Something Old
by nightowl4829
Summary: Something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue.. They say that her ancestors were from Avalon. They say she can see things before they happen. They say she can control emotions, get in people's heads. Who are they? The people that tortured her, experimented on her, stole her blue blood. And they were going to pay.
1. Chapter 1:Sorry, I Don't Speak Romanian

"Ce crezi că faci? Obține aceste lucruri încărcate în camion," One of the men barked. The room was a flurry of activity. Her Romanian was a little rusty, but she could make out just enough to tell that they were leaving in a hurry. Three men in lab coats rushed around the room packing equipment into boxes and shouting at each other. She watched from her hiding spot in a rusty cabinet, enjoying their agitation.

The shortest one let out a low curse as a can of soda knocked over before he caught it and set it on a nearby table, half the contents spilling onto a stack of papers. „Care a părăsit băutură lor stând aici," he shouted angrily while wiping up the red spill.

His companions looked up after a moment both shaking their heads. „Trebuia să fie unul dintre voi . Unde sa dus? A fost chiar aici," he continued shouting, looking around for the can he had just set down. He looked around and accidentally banged into an open cabinet door. The other two barely spared him a glance as they continued frantically throwing documents into cardboard boxes.

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The only sound she heard was the sharp staccato of her heels as they echoed down the dimly lit hallway. She took a sip from her strawberry soda, smiling to herself wryly. This had all been so easy, she thought to herself as she twirled the flash drive around in her hand. It was amazing how easy revenge could be when you put your mind to it.

Up ahead there was one last turn that would lead her out to the lobby. She quickly pocketed the drive and smoothed out her clothing. Giving one last brush through her hair to ensure it was laying the way she liked it, she pushed past the last door. The lobby was bland, but better lit. She kept her head ducked down as she travelled across the pale carpet that muffled her noisy heels.

"Hei, tu! Așteptați,"a voice called out before she reached the door. Turning, she hid her trepedation with a polite smile. Ah yes, one of the guards. He moved across the room at a lazy pace, all the while grinning at her like a wolf. He must have thought he was a modern day Casanova.

He began flirting with her in Romanian that she struggled to understand, but she managed the jist of it by his body language. She giggled and looked down shyly; her accent and poor pronunciation would surely give her away. It soon became apparent that he was on a roll and she desperately needed to get going. Leaning forward, she took the pen out of his shirt pocket while trailing her hand down his chest. He smirked as she grabbed hold of his hand and wrote a phone number on his palm before putting his pen back and walking towards the door. She turned and gave him one last wink before stepping out into the hazy sunshine of another rainy Baltimore morning.

Unfortunately, that little setback cost her precious time. She was only half a block away when the explosion went off. It was a smaller explosion and barely shook the ground, but she was much closer to the scene of the crime than she cared for. Looking around the sidewalk on the crowded street she saw many passersby stop and turn back to see the commotion. Cursing in her head, she turned as well to maintain her cover, pretending to be just another curious person running late for work.

It became apparent, however, that she couldn't linger; a security camera blinked from the top of a corner store and caught her attention. It wouldn't take long for her route to be pieced together and traced back to the lab. She glanced around and quickly found what she was looking for. Moving towards the alley as fast as she could without drawing attention, she hurried towards the back and scaled the fence. High heels were not ideal shoes for this, she thought dryly.

Once safely over the fence, she peeked over her shoulder to make sure no one saw. The streets weren't crowded at this time of day, but most of them were still caught up in the smoke pouring out of the lab to notice anything else. Bending over, she knocked over some bags of trash and found the duffel bag she had hidden for herself. She continued on her path, crises crossing her way through several blocks and cutting through alleys where possible to gain some distance.

Eventually she reached her goal: the docks. People out here were more concerned with what was happening out in the water, so it was easy to find an old, beat up Dodge and slip inside. The owner hadn't even locked it. She pried open the steering column with practiced ease and fumbled with the wires inside until she got them to spark. The engine wheezed to life. Not the ideal getaway car, but none of this was her ideal plan. She would take a seventy percent success rate if it meant a more or less clean getaway.

The car moved reluctantly, but at least it moved. She coaxed it through the streets, carefully sticking to the outskirts of the city where she was less likely to be detected. It ate up her time and increased the risk of being caught with every minute, but she didn't dare take her chances going directly through the city. Besides, if she stuck to her plan there was no chance of her being caught. She had been meticulous in mapping out her plan and accounting for every detail; it was foolproof.

A police car entered her rearview mirror and she swore. She definitely hadn't foreseen that. The extra minute or two that security guard had cost her must have messed with the timeline too much. Her breath caught in her throat as she stared at the cop car. His lights hadn't turned on yet so perhaps they weren't after her yet. Taking a gamble, she turned off onto a side road that lead to a gas station and parked in the back, by the employee cars. The cop car kept going, much to her relief.

Leaving the car running, she decided to head in for some coffee. She had been up for 37 hours straight and counting and her frayed nerves could use a caffeine boost before she got her chance to rest. She also needed to rethink her plan and make sure there weren't any other new surprises ahead of her.

She paused for a moment before taking off her blonde wig and throwing it into the backseat, letting her long auburn hair untangle into waves. It was a mess, but it was her mess, she thought as she popped the colored contact lenses out and put on the glasses stored in her jacket pocket. She didn't need them, but they helped hide her face. The jacket went into the back seat as well. It was too conspicuous. Picking up her duffel bag, she sighed deeply. Changing in the gas station bathroom might be too conspicuous as well. She grimaced at the dumpster a few feet away. It wasn't her ideal changing spot, but at least it had a thick fence around it with a few feet of free space to change in.

This is getting ridiculous, she thought as she closed the fence door behind her and started pulling her blouse over her head. At least it's better than being caught. Once she was done she pulled her hair back into a loose ponytail, completing her rolled-out-of-bed-and-threw-on-yoga-pants look. She looked nothing like the chic blonde woman she had been pretending to be a few moments ago and that was all she cared about.

She threw the old clothes in the duffel and tossed that into the trunk, but not before depositing the wig and jacket in there as well. There, that should buy her a bit more time. A yawn escaped as she walked around to the front of the gas station. Avoiding eye contact, she made her way to the back of the convenience store and towards the coffee.

„Breaking news," the old television in the corner blared. „We're coming to you live from the corner of Jackson and Seventh, where a building appears to have exploded. There is no word yet from authorities on the situation, but moments ago the earth shook and flames were seen coming out of the building which appears to have been used as a pharmaceutical research lab. We're not sure how many people are injured, but paramedics are on the scene and firefighters have been going inside to investigate..."

She drowned out the reporter's voice as she focused on pouring her coffee. Leave it to the media to focus on creating sympathy. She had none. The reporter could drone on and on for all she cared though. The first part of her mission had gone...well, not quite seamlessly, but well enough to continue her plans. She mixed in enough creamer to turn it a light brown and added a pump of chocolate syrup. Two pumps. She needed the sugar.

„It is unclear whether this is in fact the scene of a crime, but as you can see police officers on the scene are taking the situation very seriously and urge everyone to be cautious. There has been speculation that this is in fact an act of terrorism..," the reporter was still going on as she got closer to the counter. She rolled her eyes at the TV.

„This is what I'm sayin', man. We got whacked out shit goin' on right in our own damn backyard and the government ain't doin' nothin',"the man in front of me rambled to the cashier while rummaging in his pockets. The cashier nodded along absentmindedly waiting for him to find his change. She exchanged a glance and the cashier gave her a look.

The man finally left, still muttering to himself, and she stepped up to pay."Crazy stuff, isn't it," the cashier said while taking her money.

„Hmm," she responded with a nod while sipping her coffee.

„I think it's a bunch of crap," he continued. "You'll see, just some gas explosion or something. The news will jump at any story they can get. I mean, just look at the Avengers. A bunch of super powered freaks and the media takes them and turns them into prime time news and a bunch of merchandise." He breaks off to point at the wall of Iron Man bottle openers and Captain America bobble heads. „Don't get me wrong, they've done a lot of good, but I can't turn around without seeing Stark's face plastered somewhere or a replica of Thor's hammer. Whatever happened to the normal people?"

He dropped the change into her hand and she leaned forward until her face was about a foot from his. „Nobody's normal," she said, her eyes flashing with anger. She turned and exited the store as quickly as she entered.

Once safely in the stolen car, she set her drink down and closed her eyes, allowing the images to flood her head. She didn't always control what she saw, and it took great effort to narrow them down into something she could use. As it was, she worked through the tiredness and the pain to focus on a few images: flashing police lights, road signs, and incoming vehicles that looked like a SWAT team taskforce. Narrowing it down, she focused in on a back route that took her through a less than savory part of the surrounding area. If she timed it just right, she could avoid most of the traffic and make it to the highway before noon.

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It was almost child's play after that. Weaving in and out of the midday traffic on the interstate, she got off right before reaching the toll booth. Too many cameras for her taste. In fact, it was about time she got rid of this clunker. She pulled off into the nearest town and parked the car in the back of an abandoned building near some other run down vehicles. No one would notice it there for days. She cleared out the trunk of anything that belonged to her, and then moved along at a brisk pace. There was a bus stop not too far from here, and it was probably her best bet.

The bus still had twenty minutes before it would get there, so she had time to grab a quick lunch and a book to read. That way no one would bother her. The less people took notice of her, the better. It was pretty quiet since it was the middle of a Tuesday. She took the seat a few back from the driver and watched the other passengers over the top of her book. Just a bunch of elderly and a single mom with her toddler, no one too suspicious. Luckily, she found a charter bus that would take her to Philadelphia, and from there she could find another ride back to New York.

It was about halfway through their trip that they saw a military van fly by going the opposite direction. „Hey, did you see that," the driver said over his shoulder. „That van had the SHIELD symbol on it. You know, that government agency with the Avengers. Wonder where they're speeding off to."

One of the old men up front started up a conversation with the driver about it, but she ignored them and focused on the words on the page. She knew exactly where that van was heading off to; she had just hoped it would take them a bit longer.

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„Alright, what do we have," Steve Rogers said from the back of the van.

Natasha glanced back from the driver seat, looking through the window between the benches lining the back and the front compartment. „Locals aren't sure yet, but it looks like a bombing on a pharmaceutical research lab. Wouldn't bother with it, but it used to be a SHIELD station. We actually thought the place was shut down until this morning."

„You think it might be HYDRA," Sam asked from his reclined position opposite Rogers.

„I think it's worth looking into. That lab was looking for genetic coding in cancer patients. When SHIELD fell they were getting pretty close too. Either way, it doesn't look like a harmless chemical fire," Natasha responded.

„Guess we'll find out," Sam replied, settling into his seat. It was just the three of them today; the others were back at the base training. No sense in dragging out the whole team for a recon mission.

Natasha flipped through the radio stations as she zoomed along the highway. Something told her this wasn't going to be a normal mission; things weren't adding up. Why was a SHIELD lab still operating unless it was HYDRA?


	2. Chapter 2: Junk in the Trunk

Cassandra was tired. Every bone in her ached in protest from her long mission. The grim satisfaction she took from it helped ease the ache, though. Let her body hurt; revenge soothed every ache. This first step was the biggest, and now she had everything she needed to carry out her plans. She stared at the flash drive she twirled between her fingers, smiling to herself as she finally drifted off to sleep.

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Sam slumped forward in his chair, reviewing all of the tapes over and over. They were back at the base reviewing all the intel they picked up. His job was security cameras around the area when the bombing took place. Fortunately for him, not many people were coming in and out of the building when it went off, so it was relatively easy to narrow down suspects; it took all of three seconds to figure out it was the slim blonde woman. The harder part was getting a good visual of someone who seemed to be aware of every camera angle.

„Come on, look up," he muttered at the video feed, switching between two different playbacks. Each time, she seemed to purposely turn away from every camera inside the building and out. He had yet to find footage of her entering despite backtracking several hours through the entire building's feed.

„Having trouble," Natasha said from right behind him, causing him to jump. She was smirking, more than likely from having the element of surprise.

„I still don't know how a woman in three inch heels can be so quiet," he responded.

„Lots of practice," she replied. „So where do we stand on this, bring me up to speed."

„Our main suspect is this blonde woman, but it's impossible to get a good angle on her. I've got footage tracking her across two blocks until I lost her and not a single shot of her face."

„She came prepared," Natasha muttered at the screen. She turned to look as Steve entered the room and leaned against the back wall. „This was planned out too well. Forensics called a few minutes 're still combing through things, but it looks like nothing was taken so far. There are a few computers that survived the blast. Once they piece together a hard drive they'll send us a copy."

„Good," Steve said while crossing his arms. „I want to know exactly what that lab was working on."

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The alarm went off way too soon for Cassandra, who swore as she rolled over to turn it off. She stared up at the crack in the ceiling above her bed before cursing again and stretching. Her apartment was small, and definitely not nice, but it was in a part of town where she could pay rent in cash with no paperwork and not raise too many eyebrows so she put up with it. _It's not like I haven't lived through worse_ , she thought as she started a pot of coffee. The couple down the hallway was fighting again, she could hear them as she rolled her eyes.

She grabbed the remote and turned on her TV to block out the noise. It was an older one, but it worked. The news was on and yet another reporter was discussing the explosion in Baltimore. She watched as the camera panned across the street, taking in the yellow tape marking off the scene and police officers moving around the area.

The coffee pot beeped, signaling it was ready. Cassandra took a mug out of the cabinet and a bottle of whiskey. „This is for good luck," she said to herself as she poured a shot in. She hesitated, and then poured another swig. „And this is for bad luck." The coffee was next, along with some cream and sugar. She took a sip and pulled on a new shirt and some jeans before sitting cross legged on the bed with her laptop, mug in hand.

„Alright, let's see what you've got," she said as she put the flash drive in. File after file opened up on her screen, much more than anticipated. It seemed finding her answers would take longer than she thought. „Perfect," she said with a grimace. If she was going to get through this, she needed another bottle or two.

Several hours and two bottles of wine she found in the cabinet later, results were narrowing down. A few names looked like promising leads, and with half the files left she had a feeling things were going her way. Cassandra sat back, closed her eyes, and focused on one in particular.

„Theodore Roswell," she muttered to herself, picturing the only image of him she found in the file. There was nothing at first but slowly the images morphed, changed. She could see him in a bland hotel room, frantically throwing clothes into a duffel bag, checking messages on a computer. She smiled, eyes still closed. He was running; he was scared.

„Run while you can, you can't hide from the devil," Cassandra said with a grim smile. She was getting closer, and soon enough she would have her answers. She continued watching him frantically pack up the room for several minutes before he left, knocking over a pad of hotel stationary on the way out. She could just make out the name, Tides Inn, and part of the address. It looked like Massachusetts. A quick search gave her nine different possible locations, but that wouldn't do; she needed to narrow it down, and fast. She had no clue how far ahead in the future her vision had been, and it would be ideal to catch him at the hotel.

Closing her eyes once again, she focused on finding where he was. This time it was a coffee shop, thankfully not a chain store either. It shouldn't be too hard to narrow it down if she could see a name. His laptop was out and if she could just get a clearer image she might be able to make out the bottom corner of the screen. The closer she looked the fuzzier the image got, and it took a few attempts to zoom in. She nearly lost the picture entirely. 10:42 AM, with tomorrow's date. A waitress approached him with another cup of coffee, and she caught a glimpse of the shop's name on her apron. Boston's Finest Coffee Company.

There was only one hotel that matched up in Boston. It was a four hour drive, five during heavy traffic, and she could get there with plenty of time to spare. All she needed was a plan. _That shot of whiskey was lucky after all_ , she thought. Jumping up, she packed a bag with everything she needed: clothes, fake ID, powerful sedatives, a gun, and her favorite knife. She twirled it in her hand absentmindedly. It was one of the first knives she had ever gotten, a wicked looking karambit with a long, curved blade. In the neighborhood she was in, pulling out this knife had stopped a fight before it started multiple times.

Stealing a car in New York was easy, so long as the make and model weren't important. Most of the nicer parking garages had security guards that made it inconvenient for people Cassandra, but walking a block from any half decent Chinese restaurant guarranteed an unsupervised parking lot. She found a decent Acura that would fit her purposes nicely and got to work before passersby could notice. The entire thing was down to a science for her, 30 seconds tops. _Just jimmy the door open with a screwdriver, slip a wire loop down to the lock, pull it up, and...success,_ she thought as she opened the door and threw her bag in the front seat. Cassandra pried open the steering wheel column with the screwdriver and found the wires she needed.

„Can I help you," a male voice asked to her left. She froze, the screwdriver dropping from her hand. The voice in question was a police officer, his hand resting on his holstered gun.

Thinking quickly, she put a hand to her heart. „Oh, officer, you gave me a fright! I was just trying to piece my car back together. I was in an accident last week, jerk T-boned my car pulling out of a parking space," she said, focusing on the emotions coming from the man. They swirled around him in the air, non existent to everyone but her. She could feel his suspicion rolling off of him, and gently pulled it away from him and replaced it with concern. „The dent and scratches just got fixed, it almost looks new, but the door keeps sticking on me. I have to keep a screwdriver in my purse to pry it open. It messed up my steering wheel column too; the stupid cover keeps falling off."

„Looks like you need a new mechanic," he said, looking over the car. „With that kind of damage to the car, you're lucky you weren't injured."

„Yeah, I'm very lucky..thank God," she replied, tossing in the last part as they eyed the cross dangling from the rearview mirror. „I'm sorry, but I'm supposed to pick up my little sister from her school play's dress rehearsal, so..."

„Alright ma'am, you have a nice day," the cop replied, tipping his hat. He walked out of the line of sight and Cassandra blew out the breath she was holding. _That was way too close for comfort. I need to stop slipping up before I get caught_ , she thought grimly to herself.

Looking around again, she cut the wires she needed, crossed them, and the engine roared to life. The stereo kicked back up, playing Kelly Clarkson. „Seriously," she asked with a disgusted expression, cutting the music.

The four hour car trip turned out to be three and half while speeding; a built in cop radar was one of the perks of seeing the future. The Acura was parked a few blocks away from the hotel, where it would stay. It was time for a new ride anyway. She sat in the front seat, going over the events that were yet to come, working on a timeline. If she could sort out when everything was supposed to happen, it could run seamlessly.

The problem with that was it was like a game of minesweeper. In order to find out what would happen, she had to commit to a certain plan, then see what the effects would be to the future. One misstep and she would get pulled over for speeding , or someone would witness her crime. It was a guessing game where one wrong move would mean game over.

After a while her mind became numb and she decided on a quick nap. When the clock on the dashboard said seven in the morning, she grabbed her bag and left. Stashing the bag in an alley near the hotel, she walked around to find a bar. At that time in the morning, it was the best time to find a car there. There was always some drunk asshole who had to have a cab drive them home, which meant their car was just sitting in the parking lot until they woke up in the afternoon to go get it.

Thankfully, she found a Civic that looked well enough for her goal and eyed the trunk; it looked big enough. Cassandra triple checked the parking lot, making sure no cops were going to catch her off guard again. When the door was open she adjusted the seat and caught sight of a key in the cup holder.

„There's no way you're that stupid," she said as she put the key in the ignition. When the car started she shook her head and backed out of the parking space. She grabbed the bag she ditched, then swung around to a small alley behind the hotel. It had enough overgrown bushes and trees to slightly shield the hotel's dumpster, and the car as well. From here, all she had to do was wait for him to come out the back door, walk around the sidewalk and drag him 20 feet to the car. Camera's weren't a problem back here either; it seemed the hotel only cared about the front entrance.

Cassandra decided there was no real need for a wig this time; if she pulled her hood up and wore sunglasses the insufficient cameras the hotel had wouldn't catch much. She grabbed the paper she had printed earlier at a late night coffee shop as her own special stroke of genius. _Attention Hotel Guests: Due to recent rennovations, the front entrance will not be in service from 8 am to 1 pm today, and guests are recommended to use the back entrance on the south stairwell. We are sorry for the inconvenience and invite further questions to be directed to our front desk. Thank you and have a good day._ Walking quickly, she was able to slip in the back door and up to room 308 before anyone could notice her. She slid the paper under the door, and went back outside to wait, stopping in the lobby to grab a complimentary cup of coffee.

The hardest part was waiting. She had a rough estimate of when he would be down, but it was still hard to sit still when she was this close. She settled for sipping her coffee and checking her watch. 20 minutes. She picked at a loose strand on her shirt. 16 minutes. She went over the plan in her head. 10 minutes. She finished her coffee and threw it into the dumpster. 8 minutes. She checked around the sides of the building to make sure no one else was around. 6 minutes. She closed her eyes and checked for any last minute changes.

It was almost time. Cassandra leaned against the wall and picked at her nails. Finally the door opened and out stepped a mousy, brown haired man who looked a little worse for wear. _Somebody didn't get much sleep last night,_ she mused to herself. He followed the sidewalk path, laptop in hand, right in her direction.

„Theodore Roswell," she said as he nearly passed her. He turned around with a look of shock and apprehension. She swooped the laptop bag out of his hand while he was still stunned and tossed it onto the grass a few feet away. By this time the shock was wearing off and he opened his mouth to scream. Cassandra cut him off with a hit to his throat. From there it was easy to wrestle him down to the ground and stick him with a needle. In a few seconds, he was lights out.

She pulled him up and hauled him over her shoulder. There was no way to casually throw someone in the trunk of a car, so it was best for her to just do it quickly. Cassandra picked up his laptop bag and threw it in the front seat. After one last glance around, she started the car and got the hell out of there.

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„Forensics sent us a copy of the hard drive," Sam said to the rest of the Avengers assembled in the main room. After Sokovia, that included Steve Rogers, Natasha Romanoff, Sam Wilson, Vision, James Rhodes, and Wanda Maximoff. He tossed the flash drive full of it's contents on the table, where it slid all the way to Natasha.

„Let's see what they've found," Natasha said as she put the flash drive in. The files all started to pull up one by one, filling the computer screen. She started to click on one, and suddenly all the files went blank.

„That wasn't supposed to happen, right," Rhodey asked rhetorically. Natasha clicked around the screen from file to file, typing in lines of code.

„What happened," Steve asked.

„It looks someone installed a virus in their main computer before the explosion. We might be able to work around it, but some of the files are damaged," Natasha said, still typing away.

„Whoever did this, I think we know what they were after," Steve said.


	3. Chapter 3: Plan B as in Bourbon

Cassandra shifted in her seat, taking in the view. The sun was setting, it was nearly dark. She had been driving around for a few hours along old country roads; earlier she had set up a place with all of the essentials needed to get her information

Roswell was awake in the trunk; he had been thumping around back there for a while. When he first started to wake up she had pulled over and duct taped his mouth, hands, and feet. The key was to make him disoriented, not sure of where he was. She debated whether or not to put a blindfold on him, but decided against it. She wanted him to see her face.

They pulled up to the abandoned barn she had set up shop in. It was surrounded by woods and empty fields; the older couple who owned the land hadn't been out here in years and wouldn't notice the noise. She backed the car in closer and popped the trunk. Roswell squirmed his way out of the trunk and fell on the ground before she walked around. She sighed looking down at him, then hauled him over her shoulder and dragged him into the barn.

There was a rusty table set up in the middle of the open space with a chair on either side. Most of the windows had been boarded over so the only real sources of light were portable work lights for construction that she had set around the room, along with a creaky door in the hayloft which banged open and shut with the wind. A narrow work bench ran the length of one wall with various old tools covering the surface. An old cover was thrown over a tractor in the back corner. It looked like your typical barn.

Cassandra threw Roswell down in one of the chairs, securing him with duct tape and zip ties; he wouldn't get out that easy. Once that was done, she ripped the duct tape off of him and turned around, walking away from him to study the wall.

„I haven't done anything, I swear-," Roswell started, but was cut off when Cassandra raised her hand.

„I didn't drag you out here to listen to lies, Roswell. I already know what you did, I was there, remember," and with that she turned around, letting him get his first clear look at her.

„Dear God," he muttered under his breath in recognition.

„Not quite," she said with a tight lipped smile. „So let's talk about why you're here."

„I'm sorry. I know what we did was awful, and I can't-," he said.

„Ah, ah. I said I didn't want lies. And I don't care if you're sorry. You will be by the time we're done regardless. I want to talk about Project New Life," she paused as she saw a glint in his eyes. He knew. „Tell me everything."

„There's nothing to talk about," he said quickly, watching her move around the room towards the work bench. „That project was shut down. Nothing's left."

Cassandra picked up a rust coated pipe wrench, twirling it from hand to hand while testing it's weight. She saw him gulp as a bead of sweat ran down his forehead. „Are you sure?"

„There's nothing to tell. Hitting me over the head with a wrench won't help! Please for the love of God put that away," he begged as she got closer. Cassandra moved across the table from him, leaning over it with her hand still on the wrench.

„That's the second time you've mentioned Him now. Tell me, where do you think He stands in all this," she questioned while getting closer to his face.

„Please, this won't change things. I understand how what happened in the past affected you, I do-,"

„No, you don't," she snapped at him. Her hand clenched around the handle of the wrench and she moved with her back to the table. „Do you know what pain feels like? Not the kind that comes from breaking an arm or losing someone. No, I mean real pain. When there's no more shock or adrenaline. When the mind has had a long time to adjust to it...but it never really adjusts, does it? After a while, the pain starts to separate from other emotions, just becomes a constant, aching agony. Have you ever felt that before?"

He sat up straighter as she turned around to him. „I-I, I can't say I have. I'm sorry, please, I'm so sorry. I never did anything more than organize and coordinate the project, I was never the one behind anything! Please!"

She ignored his cries, getting closer until she was right against his ear. „You may have never had a personal hand in things, but don't for one second claim you were innocent. Every day I was in that living hell and you were walking freely, that was _your_ decision. You did this as much as anyone else. My blood is on your hands."

With that, she dropped the pipe wrench and pulled a knife from her back pocket. Roswell attempted to scoot his chair away, frantically sobbing out pleas. Ignoring him, Cassandra, pulled the sheath off her knife and inspected the blade before slicing a small cut into her own forearm.

„What are you doing?! Please stop, oh God, what are you doing," he sobbed as he watched her wipe away the blood from her forearm with her fingers and move closer.

Cassandra turned his palm over, coating his hand in the blood. „My blood. On your hands." She stood up and headed over to a switch on the wall, her hand just touching it. „I'm going out for a bit, give you some time to think things through. This should help make sure you put your best effort into it."

With that, she hit the switch and the work lights cut out, being replaced by powerful strobe lights that shined directly at Roswell. She also hit the button on a stereo and a loud, steady bass filled the barn. It would keep Roswell from hearing anything, and also muffle his noise should anyone pass by. Cassandra shut the door firmly as she left.

Outside, she leaned against the car and sighed deeply. It was so much work. She looked down at her arm and the cut that had stopped bleeding. It was all part of a strategic play. If she was crazy enough to cut herself, Roswell would be left to imagine all the things she would do to him. The lights and bass would crack his resolve after a few hours, not that she thought he had much resolve anyway, but it seemed obvious that whatever he was going to say right off the bat would be a lie.

No, if Cassandra wanted answers, she would have to work for it. After he was starting to lose his mind from the overstimulation she would go back in. It probably wouldn't take more than a couple of hours. She chuckled at the face he made as she was skimming her hand over the old tools, terrifying him; she never planned to outright torture him...

She stopped to grab a bottle from under the passenger seat. Spiced rum. It wasn't her favorite, but she needed something. Taking a swig out of it, she resumed her original position while staring at the barn door. _Yeah, it might have been satisfying, taking an eye for an eye, letting him know what they did to me..but I can't. I won't._

„I won't be like them," she whispered to herself as she stared up at the first stars appearing in the night sky. Cassandra took a bigger swig of rum. Was revenge really what she was after? Or was it justice? It didn't matter; the end result would be the same to her.

„Fuck this," she muttered to herself, grabbing the key from her pocket. She started the car and drove off. There had to be a bar somewhere closeby, and there was no way Roswell was going to break himself out.

Twenty minutes later she was sitting at the end of the counter, drinking a martini. That was more her style. There was a leftover bottlecap next to her; she grabbed it and spun it on it's end like a coin absentmindedly.

„So, what's a pretty girl like you doing around here," a man to her left asked.

Cassandra rolled her eyes out of his view and took a sip from her martini. „Well, it looks like I'm having a drink." She turned and gave him a lazy smile, stirring her martini with the olive.

„We don't get a lot of new people around here. You staying with anyone," he asked her with a grin.

„Can't say I am," she replied, taking one last, long drink of her martini.

„You are now," he got closer, putting a hand on her thigh. She looked down at his hand, then trailed it up to his face where his hungry eyes were staring at her.

„I think I'd like another drink," she whispered coyly at him.

„Bill," he said, turning to the bartender, „get this lady another drink, and put her tab on mine."

He went to make another martini, but Cassandra put a hand out. „Make it a Vieux Carré."

The bartender nodded and got to work on her drink, while Cassandra watched disinterested. She was surprised he knew what it was; then again, he was older, and it was more popular back in the day.

"So, what's your name," the man to her left asked.

"Isabella. And you," she asked politely.

"Paul," he said, his eyes sliding down to her chest. "So, where are you from?"

"Nowhere special, heading to the same," she replied as the bartender set her drink down. She drank nearly half of it before setting it back down, and Paul raised his eyebrows at her.

"Pretty, mysterious, handles her liquor," he said as he rubbed his hand up and down her leg. "I think I struck gold."

Cassandra replied with a small smile and downed the rest of her glass in one go. Gently moving his hand, she stood up. "Why don't you pay the tab, and I'll go outside? I need some air."

"See you in a second, beautiful," he grinned as he flagged the bartender over.

Moving quickly, Cassandra stepped outside and went off down the street towards the car. Her feet were just a little wobbly, which is probably why she hadn't made it by the time Paul came back out of the bar. She cursed and tried to go a little quicker, fumbling with the key. He got to her car right as the key was in the lock.

"Where do you think you're going," he asked angrily.

"Nowhere special," she repeated, opening the car door.

"Hey, we had an agreement," he said, holding the car door so she couldn't shut it.

"No we didn't," she responded, trying to look innocent. "You offered to pick up my tab, we chatted, that was the end of it."

He grabbed her arm tightly. "If you think this is-,"

Cassandra saw red. She looked down at his hand on her arm and the look she gave him stopped him cold. Grabbing and twisting his wrist, she shoved him up against the car. She felt the anger and frustration rolling off of him in waves. Pulling from a power deep within herself, she took it away and replaced it with genuine fear.

"You're going to turn around and take yourself home. If I ever hear of you treating another woman like this, you can guarantee you won't be … _lucky,_ ever again. Are we clear," she threatened with as much venom as she could.

All he could do was nod, backing away from the car. Cassandra got in and slammed the door behind her, roaring the engine to life. Once she was well on the way she let out a long stream of cusses. That had been stupid, and careless. She needed to focus. Pushing everything else aside, she prepared for the interrogation that waited for her, which meant taking that spiced rum with her.

Stepping back into the barn, she flipped the switch on the wall, turning off the strobe lights and bringing back the spot lights. Cassandra waited to make eye contact until the stereo was turned off and she had made her way back to the table setting the bottle on the floor beside her.

"Are we in the talking mood yet," Cassandra asked.

"Please, I've already told you, I'll tell you what you need to know," Roswell said.

Cassandra took the opposite chair at the table, tilting it back to cross her ankles on the tabletop. "I'm glad you've come around. Project New Life. Tell me everything."

"I've already told you that project was shut down, there's nothing else. Please just let this be over with, I'm sorry," he sobbed.

Frowning, she took her legs off the table and leaned forward. "That project is still operating. Do not toy with me. I'm done with the lies." She closed her eyes, focusing on the emotions swirling out of him: fear, sadness, pain. He was already afraid, but it wasn't working. She needed more. Taking all of the fear she could muster, she shoved it all full force at him. Roswell screamed loudly, proof that it had worked.

"Leitner," he screamed. "The only one I know of still around here is Augustus Leitner. He was a doctor in molecular biology, he helped graft your cells onto new patients. He knew more about the project than I did. I don't have a part in anything anymore, but if it's still running he might know. Please!"

Cassandra got up from her chair and moved around the table. She opened her mouth to say something, but was interrupted by a vision. Visions almost never came to her unwarranted, but it played in her head like a movie. She was standing in this same spot, asking Roswell something, when a bullet shattered through the hayloft floor and hit straight through her head.

Scrambling, she fell to the ground and rolled under the work bench right as the bullet ripped through the air, taking out Roswell instead. The high caliber bullet made a loud cracking sound, but not enough to mask the sound of footsteps on the floor above. Roswell slumped forward in the chair, knocking into the table and falling over. The rum went rolling off to the side.

Thinking quickly, Cassandra grabbed an old work rag and crawled towards the bottle. Uncapping it, she doused the rag with it and stuck half of it inside. She had seen a lighter somewhere too. Standing, she frantically searched the work bench and landed on an old bic lighter right as the footsteps overhead stopped. She hid the bottle behind her and turned in time to watch him step out of the hole in the floor used for tossing hay down, landing in a crouched position ten feet from her.

They made eye contact and he grinned. It was feral, like seeing a wild animal up close. He started to move his hand towards his knife and Cassandra ducked to the side as it went flying past her, embedding firmly in the wall. She ran towards the entrance, pausing once she was far enough out. He was taking his time, walking with an arrogant expression on his face like she was nothing.

Before he caught on to what she was doing, she lit the rag and threw the bottle, smashing right into his face. He screamed as liquid fire rained down around him, glass shards embedding in his left cheek. It was something Cassandra was sure she would never forget. Shaking, she ran to the car and threw open the door. She went to turn the key, but paused as a vision of herself engulfing in flames flashed before her eyes. He put a bomb under the car, just in case.

"Shit," she yelled, grabbing the laptop from the passenger seat and making a dash for the woods. "Shit, shit, shit!" Her footing wasn't the best and she slipped several times, but it was dark in the trees. If she couldn't see, that meant he couldn't either…she hoped. He was following, she knew that much. He wasn't as silent as he should have been, cussing up a storm. Cassandra hoped his pain would slow him down.

Closing her eyes, she searched in different directions to run. Most were dead ends, creeks, or open fields. She got lucky; about a quarter mile to her right was a hunter's blind, equipped with an old dirt bike. If she could get there without being seen, she might be able to escape this alive.

The hardest part was trading in speed for stealth. Cassandra wanted to run, but going slowly, taking time to map things out and see clearly, it was the right move. It was smarter. It was the only option where she wasn't getting shot at. Slowly, she reached her destination. The blind was more of a little shed and she quickly moved around the back, finding a tarp covering the bike.

Throwing it off, she was happy to see a small path. That would come in handy. Balancing the laptop case on her lap, she kicked the bike into motion and started zooming past trees. It didn't matter if he could hear her now. Pretty soon she would be out of his distance.

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"Any new leads," Steve asked Natasha. She was sitting at the computer, typing in some code Stark had sent them. He wasn't needed in person…yet, so his retirement still stood.

"I think it's just about done," Natasha said without looking up from her work. Her typing got more hostile, stabbing at the keys. "There."

The files started filling in words rapidly, almost overloading the computer. As file after file filled up, they shared a look.

"Looks like we've got work cut out for us," Steve sighed.


	4. Chapter 4: Happy Hour is 2-4

Cassandra took the dirt bike as far as she could into town, speeding. On a positive note, whoever was chasing her would have to double back to get his vehicle which gave her some time. Once in town, she ditched the bike behind a dumpster. Someone would find it eventually.

Fast, fast, she had to be faster, fast as a…motorcycle? She checked the street three times, even checking the future. The coast was clear. Cassandra ran across the street full speed to where the motorcycle was parked next to the bar she was at earlier. Opening the bag on the side, she threw the laptop in. Hotwiring a motorcycle was a little harder, but not impossible. It was all about finding the right wires she needed.

The first time she put the wires together nothing happened. _Fuck! Motherfucking shit fuck! Strip the wires, twist them together, and…shit!_ Taking a deep breath, she tried the third time. Finally there was a little spark and the dash lit up. Success! She revved the engine and took off down the street, ignoring the door of the bar opening and the loud shouts of the angry owner.

"I'll leave it somewhere for you," she yelled over her shoulder, not really caring. She zoomed through the small town streets, thankful that there were no cops. In a town like this, they probably hung up their badges at dinnertime and left everything to the county sheriff.

Once Cassandra was a few miles down the interstate she started to relax a little. She hadn't seen anyone chasing her over her shoulder, and once she got far enough out she planned on stopping and checking the near future to see if anyone was coming after her. Right then, all she wanted was as much distance between her and that god-awful town as possible.

The night was fairly chilly, and unfortunately there wasn't much time to grab a jacket. Motorcycles might be better for speed and evading someone, but they sucked when it was cold out. She resigned herself to shivering and cursing until she could find the next Wal-Mart; they would have everything she needed.

First, though, she needed some money. There was a sign for the next exit listing different gas stations: Mobil, Shell, and one named Jefferson's. She turned at the exit and headed further into town, to Jefferson's. The other ones, being larger chain stores and closer to the interstate, were likely to have more cameras. She pulled up to the side, near where the employees must park to keep out of view of the front camera.

Flipping open the bag on the side of the bike, she rifled through it. At the very bottom were a few crumpled bills and combined with the cash in her back pocket, it would have to work. Folding the bills into a wad to put in her front pocket, she looked down at herself. There were mud splotches all over her jeans, part of her shirt was torn, and looking in the mirror she saw a few specks of blood across her right cheek. Wiping those off, she did her best to clean herself up before heading in.

The cashier looked up from the magazine he was reading, raising an eyebrow at her. "Rough night?"

She rolled her eyes, locating the lottery machine in the back of the store. "Word of advice: if you want to go hiking, start earlier in the day. Can't see a damn thing at night." He let out a chuckle and flipped the page of his magazine, effectively ending their conversation.

Squaring up her shoulders, Cassandra eyed the lottery machine. This wasn't her favorite thing to do, but desperate times called for desperate measures. Feeding the bills into the machine one at a time, she looked over each ticket, studying them. When the machine had all her money, she closed her eyes and let the images flood her mind. Without looking, she pushed different buttons, letting the tickets fall to the bottom uncollected until the money ran out.

She bent down to collect them and set them on a little table near the coffee bar, pulling up the single chair left. Cassandra worked quickly scratching off the cards with her thumb nail. Five minutes later, she took the stack up to the cashier and dumped them on the counter.

"Did you get any losers," he asked, shocked, and began to scan them into the system to pay them out.

"A few," she lied.

He just shook his head while scanning them. "I want your kind of luck."

She let out a sarcastic chuckle before she could stop herself. "Trust me, you don't." He scanned the rest of the cards in silence, then silently handed over her money, about 587 dollars.

She left as quickly as she came in, conscious that the cashier was going to have one hell of a story to tell people. Hopefully stopping there didn't gain the wrong kind of attention. Taking a chance, she decided against going back on the interstate. It looked like if she followed one of the side roads she could get to another town nearby that was bigger, and maybe jumping off the main roads would hide her better. Besides, it looked like the next city would have a Walmart.

About twenty minutes later, she found exactly what she was looking for. Pulling in, she parked the bike off to the side near automotive where it was less likely to be noticed. Grimacing at it, she realized it was probably time to ditch it. With a sigh she grabbed the handles and wheeled it back behind a giant air conditioning unit, taking the laptop with her. No one would notice it there for a couple hours.

Going into a Walmart late at night was always a bit of a treat, Cassandra had decided. There was always an eccentric mix of people that would never be seen in daylight. She stepped around a man who looked half drunk, busy picking up pennies off the floor, and headed to the clothing section. The style didn't really interest her, but having clean clothes seemed nice. She grabbed a few shirts, some jeans, sweatpants, and other essentials before heading off to find a toothbrush. Grabbing all of her necessities there, she sighed. It wouldn't hurt to grab another luggage bag or two either.

After she had made her way around the store once or twice she headed towards the self check out. The less she had to talk to someone, the better. Cassandra idly toyed with the lighters on display before grabbing one and ringing it up. Always a good idea to have on hand, she thought.

Cassandra finished paying and took her purchases outside, where she stuffed them into her new duffel bag. The only question was where to find a ride, she thought while looking around. The parking lot was fairly empty, besides the fact that she had just been on too many cameras to risk stealing one from there. The man from earlier came out the doors behind her, appearing to have collected his pennies.

"Hey," she called out to him. He turned to look at her with bloodshot eyes. "Where's the nearest bar?"

He pointed off into the distance before stumbling behind the bench nearby and throwing up behind it. She wrinkled her nose in disgust, hitched the strap of the bag higher onto her shoulder, and set off at a quick pace, eager to get away from the sound.

Cassandra lucked out about five minutes later. While walking towards the bar, she stumbled across a car parallel parked on the side of the road with a few parking tickets tucked behind the windshield wiper. Looking around, she spotted a courthouse half a block down. This sort of thing happened a lot: someone would show up to court, not expecting to be arrested. The car would probably sit another couple of days, collecting tickets, before someone eventually came for it. Whoever it belonged to, they didn't seem like they would miss it for a while. Of course, the trade off was that cops tended to pass by courthouses a lot, and she hoped one wouldn't be around at this time of night.

Grabbing a new screwdriver out of her duffel, she unlocked the door as quickly as she could. After the amount of stress she had endured in the past few hours, she needed a massage, a hot bath, and a few shots of something strong. Hotwiring the car, she pulled out of the parking spot and back on the road as fast as possible. This time, she opted for country roads. Now that the threat of being chased was less likely, it was better to stay hidden. That was easier to do in small towns and old roads, where few people were likely to go. As long as she didn't get too turned around it would be fine.

Her favorite part of being alone was driving through places like this. It was peaceful that way, where the quiet seemed natural instead of unsettling. The road twisted and curved in a graceful way that let Cassandra test the limits of the stolen car. She was kicking it up to high speeds when a sudden vision took over her senses. Gasping, she slammed her foot on the brake and the car came skidding to a stop. The huge buck she had seen in her mind's eye leapt out of the woods and sprinted across the road in front of her, not sparing her a single glance.

Cassandra huffed out the breath she had been holding in and pushed the hair out of her face. It felt like she was narrowly avoiding a lot of imminent death these days. She reached across to the passenger seat and took a swig straight out of her bottle of gin, grimacing as she realized it was almost empty. Maybe it was time for a break.

A little further down the road she found an old dirt road that looked like a maintenance path for the park and pulled in. It was pretty well surrounded by the overgrowth of grass and trees, providing a sort of shelter for the car. No one would find her out here; no one that wanted her dead anyway. Sighing, she shifted further down into her seat, trying to get a few hours of sleep at least.

The down side to her hiding spot was how shaded it was. Cassandra only woke up when the sun was beaming right into her eyes, which meant it was already far too late in the day. Groaning, she sat up and abruptly opened the car door as her stomach turned. Ridding herself of whatever was still in her stomach, she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. Food would have to be next on the list. Turning the car on, she glanced at the clock on the dashboard. 2:27 pm. Damn, she had lost a lot of time.

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Slowing down as she eased into the nearest small town, she looked around from the main road and found a sign for The Pioneer Tavern, which looked like the only likely place for some food in the area. She pulled around the side, next to some bushes in case someone bothered to look too closely at the car. It was a small town, after all. Grabbing the laptop, she headed in.

The place was completely empty at this time of day, giving her first pick at the outdated furniture and worn wallpaper. Taking in the choices, Cassandra picked a table in the nearest corner, with her back to the wall and a good view of the street from the window next to her. It would be impossible to sneak up on her here, and she still had a good chance of making it to the door.

An older lady, her graying hair putting her somewhere in her sixties, came to take Cassandra's order. She looked like the type that had spent her whole life in the same spot. All Cassandra could focus on at that point was a need for coffee, and the woman swept behind the counter to the make a fresh pot. Putting her head in her hands, Cassandra focused on breathing in and out. The events of the past twenty four hours were making her head spin.

The woman, Maureen according to her nametag, glanced over at her from behind the counter. "You look like you had a hell of a night," she said. Cassandra looked up at the woman's tone, but the older woman wasn't smirking at her, or smiling sympathetically. She nodded at her and went back to staring at her hands.

Maureen brought her a cup, a pot of cream, and some sugar before going back to get the pot of coffee. To Cassandra's surprise, before she poured out the coffee Maureen took a small flask out of her back pocket and poured an ample amount into the cup, filling the rest with coffee.

"I've been there," Maureen shrugged, pocketing the flask and moving to put the coffee back. Cassandra's eyebrows shot up, but she added cream and sugar and took a sip. Whiskey. This woman deserved employee of the month.

"So, is it just a liquid lunch today, or are you thinking of eating real food," Maureen asked while wiping down the counter. "Because a turkey club and some fries would do you some good right now." Again, she didn't sound critical, just matter-of-fact.

"Sounds good to me," Cassandra replied, still sipping the coffee.

The older woman moved behind the counter, presumably to tell someone else to make the food, because she reappeared thirty seconds later. She set the old washrag down on the counter and leaned against it. "Well, what was his name?"

Cassandra raised an eyebrow at the woman. "I didn't sleep with anyone last night."

"Not that," Maureen said with a wave of her hand. "What I mean is, there's always a guy that screws a girl over. It's in their DNA. And you, dear, look screwed over."

Cassandra took a long sip of her coffee before answering. She hadn't talked with someone like Maureen in a long time, someone that she felt could understand if circumstances were different. It was throwing her off. "I've probably screwed myself over more than anyone else has."

Maureen made a very unladylike snort. "Honey, I don't know a single person who hasn't, but you're in good company here. I've never built a bridge I didn't burn."

Cassandra nodded. "I've burned a lot of things, and I'm not done yet."

"Sometimes things need to burn," Maureen said before going in the back and bringing out a plate of food. She refilled her coffee, flask included, and left Cassandra to her business.

 _Sometimes things need to burn._ She drummed her fingers against the laptop before opening it and starting it up. It was time to see what Roswell was hiding. She waited for the screen to boot up while taking a few bites of her food. She tried to remember the last thing she had eaten…maybe at the bar the night before? The laptop pinged, turning her attention to the screen.

The first thing Cassandra did was look for any bugs, key logging software, or other anti theft ware before continuing. Roswell had a few different interesting things on his laptop: encrypted files, fake passports with corresponding flight plans, and a little software icon in the top right corner of his screen that looked familiar.

Clicking it, Cassandra pulled up a link to Tor, a provider for the dark net. It was the place society's degenerates went to when they needed an underground way to communicate. The IP addresses, websites, and other data they accessed weren't monitored by anyone without the specific software and authorization codes. She had come across it a few times, but never in depth.

The only downside was trying to figure out Roswell's history on it; it wasn't like she could pull up a browser history report on it. While the screen was open, Cassandra streamed the encryption software onto the computer, hoping she could at least start that process. There was one file in particular that looked more like a list, more promising.

Another thought crept into her mind, one attached to a sniper rifle. Her fingers hovered over the keys. If someone was trying to find a criminal of that caliber, this was the place to do it. She knew of a few message boards that would have the answers she was looking for, if she could just phrase the question right. It couldn't be too obvious she was nosing around or they'd shut down.

She pulled up the first message board, watching the other users type. They were having a discussion about the best way to smuggle things out of Namibia. Now or never…

 _Who's the best shot around these days_ , she typed in to the message board and waited.

 _Jack Daniels,_ someone replied almost instantly.

 _Depends on what you're talking about,_ another user replied.

 _A new job opportunity's opened up. East coast. I want someone who knows what the hell they're doing and stays off the radar,_ she keyed in.

 _That leaves you with a pretty big hiring pool, anything specific?_

Cassandra paused for a moment, _I want a guy that can make a long range shot, in and out without making a personal appearance._

 _How much are you willing to shell out?_

 _If they can get the job done right, enough…_ , Cassandra typed. Hopefully that was enough to get what she needed. The wait between earlier messages had been almost nonexistent, but this one seemed to drag on. She forced herself to eat some more instead of staring at the screen some more.

 _You've got a few options. There's Smoke, this British dude called Meyer, and this little Brazilian chick that's always smoking a cigar. Can't remember her name for the life of me. Great rack, though._

 _What about that Eastern European guy? League, I think his name was,_ another user typed in.

 _Nah, from what I hear he's not free lance anymore, he hasn't even been out in months. Threw his lot in with someone else_.

Cassandra's heart skipped a beat reading the words on the screen; that had to be him. She shut the program down and closed the laptop. Finally, she had a start.

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Steve looked down at his boots, covered in soot. They were standing in the remnants of an old barn which had just quit smoldering a few hours ago. There wasn't too much of it left besides a few charred pieces of framework and tons of bright yellow caution tape. In the center was a rough outline where a body was found. Police, firefighters, and a crime scene detectives milled around, but gave them their space.

"We're still waiting for the coroner's office to get back, but it appears to be Theodore Roswell. Still looking into his background. His name popped up in a few of the files we recovered. We traced him to his hotel room where he became a missing persons," Natasha said from a few feet away, inspecting one of the charred beams.

"And how did we get from there to here," Steve asked.

Sam nodded his head towards the car, which was parked far enough away from the barn to escape the flames until first responders could move it to safety. "Stolen Honda Civic. She has a knack for leaving a trail of cars behind her. When we found Roswell's location I did a scan of missing vehicles in the area and flagged them in the system. This one popped up a few hours ago."

"So she kidnapped him, dragged him out to the middle of nowhere, for what? Just to kill him," Steve asked shaking his head. "No, she wanted him alive, at least for a bit. She wanted information out of him, something that wasn't in the files she stole. The question is, did she get it?

"I don't think the fire was planned," Natasha replied. She was bending down, carefully flipping over bits of wood. "From what we know, she's working alone, and the car was left behind. The owners of the barn said the only vehicle they had out here was a tractor, and they don't get taxis out here. The only way she could have left was on foot. I don't know about you, but that's a last resort."

"Alright, so the fire wasn't planned this time. Think Roswell caused it," Sam asked.

Natasha poked around a bit more, then pulled the neck of a bottle out from the pile of debris. "Look at the scorch marks around the rim. This looks like a Molotov to me." Her phone started to ring and she answered it, turning her back to them as she listened.

"That was the coroner's office. They're still waiting on the results, but they found something interesting. Our dead guy was shot before he got burned. No bullet, it ripped clean through so it must have been high caliber. They'll be sorting through the mess out here for it. So the question remains, why Molotov a dead guy," Natasha asked.

Steve walked over to the edge of the building, looking at a footprint that was slightly bigger than the others; a man's footprint that was dismissed at first as belonging to the farmer that owned the barn. "Maybe he wasn't the target."


	5. Like A Seventy Percent Success Rate

A/N: Hey guys! I hope everyone is enjoying the story so far. I just wanted to thank you all for reading and being so patient as I try to update. I'm going through health issues, as is my father, and have a very hectic lifestyle. I just wanted to preface the next couple of chapters by telling you to brace yourselves. It's about to visit some dark places, so if you are sensitive towards alcoholism, I suggest you tread carefully. You can always message me for a synopsis of the chapters if you would rather skip over it, but would still like to read the rest of the story. I felt it was necessary while exploring Cassandra's character to really push her issues to the forefront, and I really just write what I'm inspired to. Thank you for sticking with me, and I'd love to hear your thoughts on the story!

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Cassandra didn't stop again until the gas light came on. She had been travelling on the highway now, convinced that it was safe. After meticulously searching the future, she was fairly certain she wasn't going to have another run in with the world's most inconvenient assassin for the time being. She fueled up at a truck stop, which was a good sign; it meant the town was used to seeing strangers and wouldn't think twice about her.

She also channeled her gift and picked up some more lucky scratch off tickets, but decided against cashing them in there. It was less conspicuous to take them to another store, and she didn't need the money right away. Instead she grabbed some food and headed to the hotel nearby, using a fake driver's license to get a room.

Her dreams that night were disturbing; memories resurfaced as they often did, twisting a knife in her heart and tormenting her. Finally, she gave up and stared at the ceiling. The alarm clock next to her gave off enough light to cast the room in a faint red glow. 4:37 am. Groaning, Cassandra kicked the sheets off of her as she realized sleep wasn't coming back to her.

Tying her hair up in a pony tail, she changed into jeans and ran across the street to the twenty four hour minimart she had seen earlier. It was empty except for the lonely woman cleaning down the counter. She looked up at her curiously before going back to her scrubbing.

Cassandra headed to the back of the store, grabbing some beef jerky and a bag of chips along the way. Her real prize was along the back wall. Picking up a bottle of cheap vodka, she made her way to the front of the store. The woman looked up with a raised eyebrow, but made no comment as she rang up the items. Still, Cassandra could feel the criticism rolling off the woman in waves.

"Have a good night," the woman called after her as the door swung shut behind her. Cassandra walked just far enough to be out of sight before opening the bottle and taking a swig. People like that woman didn't understand, couldn't understand. Cassandra was walking towards the hotel, but veered off towards an old water tower. No one would notice her up there, not that early in the morning.

Once she had climbed halfway up she sat down on the rung, one arm hooked around the side of the metal railing for support. Cassandra took a long swig out of the bottle while looking down at the street. No, people like her didn't understand. Tragedy changes things. No matter what they say, drinking doesn't make you forget things; it makes you not care, which is almost as good. And at that moment, Cassandra needed to not care.

She watched the sunrise up there, taking comfort in how quiet the town looked from up there. She could see cars passing by on the main road, but the town looked almost empty. Her mind wandered in circles, thinking about encrypted files and assassins that could shoot through floors. She thought about her dreams, which were filled with memories. Parts of it were new though, and she had to wonder if it was just a regular dream or if it was a vision she wasn't aware of.

There were several times in the past that her dreams had proven to be foresight and she had simply missed it, but it was near impossible to tell. The moment she woke up her dreams started to fade away and become fuzzy to remember, losing their clarity.

Shrugging, she chugged the last of the vodka. Either it would happen or it wouldn't. The climb down was unsurprisingly not as easy as getting up. The heel of her boots caught on a rung once or twice, and she ended up dropping the bottle and watching it tumble to the ground with a crash. Bleary eyed, she made her way back to the hotel and collapsed into bed.

Cassandra woke up once the sun was well into the sky this time, almost lunchtime. Not that she was hungry. Her head was just beginning to throb in the beginnings of a migraine. A cold shower helped a bit, but not much. Sighing, she pulled out Roswell's laptop and opened a search tab.

Closing her eyes, she remembered Roswell's last words, his face before the bullet ripped through his head. Cassandra shivered. Wouldn't he have died eventually, though? Would she have pulled the trigger? Shaking her head, she started typing; no use in asking questions that could never be answered. He was one of the guilty, and a loose end as well. There was never going to be a good resolution.

'Augustus Leitner' she keyed into the search engine. Surely that name was long dead, abandoned in favor of a new alias, but it was a start. Google was unsurprisingly unhelpful. Anyone tangled up in his line of work wouldn't exactly have an active facebook account. The next step was searching the unrestricted side of the internet, which was infinitely more helpful.

 _When in doubt, go to the conspiracy theorists_ , Cassandra thought as she opened a corporate watchdog website. Someone had scanned in by hand thousands of redacted and 'burned' files from different companies, organizations, and government funded studies. The sort of information they tend to leave out of official reports. She set up an automated search to comb through every uploaded file. For good measure, she followed suit on several other sites. Hopefully one of them would find something.

It was going to take a few hours for it to go through everything, so Cassandra figured she had some time to kill. The first thing she did was go through her duffel bag and figure out what else she would need. More clothes, some knives wouldn't hurt, and other essentials. At some point she was going to see League again and she needed to be prepared. What was the point in seeing the future if she couldn't be two steps ahead?

Cashing in some of her lottery tickets, Cassandra focused on stocking up. First was Walmart, and she picked up more clothes with lots of pockets, a few pocket knives, small aerosol cans of deodorant, lighters, aluminum foil, some medicine from the pharmacy, and a small blender among other things. Next was the hardware store for a nitrogen spray gun, some heavy duty sealant, a nail gun, and other essentials.

The cashier at the hardware store was a burly man, exactly the sort you would expect to find there. He gave Cassandra a look as she set her items down on the belt. "That's an odd assortment, what kind of project are you working on?"

"Home improvement," she said with a tight-lipped smile. "I'm just trying to take care of a few problems that are bugging me."

"If you'd like, I can walk you through-," he began.

"That's okay, I've got it covered. Seventy percent, anyway," she cut him off. _Actually I'm stocking up to surprise and kill an international assassin before he offs me instead. Which brand of sealant is the most flammable, in your opinion?_ Cassandra smirked at her own thoughts.

She could sense his determination rolling off of him in waves. So full of himself. Keeping her eyelids half closed, she could see an aura around him, could see the swirling mass of vibrant colors twisting and swirling. Grabbing on to them with her senses, she tugged until they came loose and she let them fizzle into the air. Cassandra replaced it with a jolt of fear. Only enough to make his heart skip a beat and his hands fumble with the item he was trying to scan. It was enough to rattle him though, and he looked at her with a wide eyed expression.

"You know what, I'll take these too," she said, grabbing a few bottles of pepper spray off of the shelf next to her and tossing them onto the counter. She paid quickly, leaving the cashier in her wake. She passed through a drive thru on her way back and carried an armful of bags up to her room. The automated search was still plugging away on the laptop,

The next few hours were spent in a twisted version of an arts and crafts session. Aluminum foil and several over the counter pills were tossed into the blender until it made a fine powder. Cassandra scooped it into foil packets, making mini flash grenades strong enough to temporarily blind someone. Who needed cooking classes when you could learn something practical?

Happy with her new arsenal, Cassandra sat back and took a sip of her strawberry soda. The laptop pinged, and she rushed over to look at it. The first search was done, and it looked like several files were found. Grabbing the laptop, she settled in on the bed to sift through them.

The first document was from Henderson Pharmaceuticals and Research. Cassandra recognized the name; it was the dummy corporation they had used as a front to hide what was really happening. The file was mainly garbage, fake nonsense about cancer research that never happened there. It did include that Leitner was an Austrian scientist with a PhD in molecular biology. The file said he was tracking the cellular growth of cancer in different patients as the study went on. Her eyes started to burn as angry tears threatened to escape and she closed the file quickly.

The next file was a little more fruitful. Henderson wasn't in the title, which she was thankful for. Her tolerance for bullshit was incredibly low at the moment. The file appeared to be an academic record of Leitner's time in college, from grades to diploma. Everything was exceptional, she thought acidly. Would she have finished college with the same glowing recommendations if she had had the chance?

Frustrated, she exited out of the file and saw there was nothing else. That was all her search had turned up. Cassandra let out a stream of curse words and slammed the laptop shut. Everywhere she turned there were dead ends. Running her hands through her hair, she checked the time. It was almost seven, and twilight had just set in.

Deciding it was time to blow off some steam, Cassandra hopped in the shower again and changed into black jeans and a crimson long sleeved tee. Scrunching up her hair, she winged her eyeliner and put on deep red lipstick. She wanted to look as dangerous as she felt right then; make up was her war paint. She paused before putting on an old necklace: a wrought iron crescent moon pendant with a small crystal star dangling in the center.

Cassandra looked in the mirror one last time and smiled. She went to grab her boots and stopped herself. This outfit called for some high heels. Oddly enough, she found heels were just as good of a weapon to have on hand as anything else and always kept a pair on hand. This pair was one of her favorites; black and strappy, they added almost four inches to her height.

The toughest decision of the night turned out to be which bar she wanted to go to. It was always a risky enterprise for what she had in mind. In the end, she settled on the building in the next town over with the least amount of motorcycles parked out front. Not that she didn't like bikers, but they knew how to throw a punch, and tonight it would have been at her face.

She parked across the street and walked up to the door with an easy confidence, smiling at two guys who were hanging around the door smoking. "Evening, boys," she said with a wink. One of them smiled back and held the door open, taking the opportunity to look down her low cut shirt. This was exactly the place she wanted to be. Keeping the small smile on her face, she strolled up to the bar and leaned against the counter.

Cassandra didn't have to wait long. A particularly grimy looking guy ambled over and stood next to her, entirely too close. She could smell sweat, cigarette smoke, and cheap scotch on him like a bad cologne. Fighting the urge to wrinkle her nose, she looked up at him with an inviting smile.

"Now how did you end up in here," he asked her with a grin.

Cassandra gave a small laugh. "Can't a girl get a drink?"

"Of course she can," he replied. "Bartender, get this girl a Jack and coke. Put it on my tab."

"Getting ahead of yourself, aren't we," she said flirtatiously, one eyebrow raised.

"I don't like wasting time," he said. "And I don't like going home alone, either."

She laughed again, combing her fingers through her hair. "Well, I've got some bad news for you," she said, before leaning in closer to his face. "I only came here for the drink."

The bartender chose that moment to set her drink in front of her, and she took a sip of it while staring into his eyes, making it a playful challenge.

"I can make you change your mind," he whispered, moving to touch her.

Cassandra gracefully danced back a half step, just making him miss the mark. "You want to bet on it?"

He laughed at that. "Sure, I'll make a bet. What are we betting on?"

Cassandra glanced around the room for show. She already knew what she had in mind. Gesturing with her hand towards the pool table in the corner she replied, "how about a game?"

"Alright," he nodded. Picking up both of their drinks, he lead them over to the lone pool table in the corner. "Have you ever played pool before?"

Cassandra scrunched up her nose like she was trying hard to remember. "A few times with some friends years ago, but I'm not sure I remember the rules or exactly how to play..."

"I'll teach you," he said while grabbing a couple of pool sticks off the wall and racking up the balls on the table. A small group gathered around the table, and they appeared to be his friends. They looked like more of the same scruffy, barfly types. _He may not have been the best mark after all_ , Cassandra thought.

"We'll have a practice game first, to make it fair. I'll break them first, it'll be easier for you than trying to hit them." He laughed at that last part. Cassandra tried not to roll her eyes. "Now watch how I line up my shot."

He lined up the cue ball, making a big show of it, and managed to break the formation on the table without much trouble, but none of the balls rolled into a pocket. "Now it's your turn."

Cassandra stepped up to the table, prepping for her shot. She purposefully gripped the stick wrong, aiming off the center of the cue ball. She hit the cue ball too softly, causing it to roll a few inches into the center of the table.

"Here, let me show you how to do it right," he said and replaced the cue ball in its originally position. "Lean over again," he said while pushing on the center of her back. He kept his hand there longer than necessary. "Now let's look at your grip. See, this is your problem here." He repositioned her fingers. "You have to grip the wood firmly," he said with a wink. Cassandra cringed internally at the double entendre. He proceeded to lean over her with his entire upper body pressed against hers. "Now you line up your shot, and I'll help give you some power."

Cassandra took her aim and as she thrust the pool stick forward he did the same, sending the ball spinning forward. It went just shy of hitting a striped ball and bounced against the sides of the table. "It was so close," she said while running her hand through her hair again.

"You're getting better though," he replied and took his shot. "Let's try it again." He used the next three turns as an excuse to press his body against hers on the pretense of helping her. The next time her turn began, she turned to him with a pout.

"I think you're trying to distract me so I won't be able to win," she said to him. "It's not much of a practice if I don't get to try."

He stopped and leaned against his pool stick, sweeping his arm towards the table. "Go ahead. Practice or not, I'll still win the game." The grin he gave her was feral. Someone in their little audience wolf whistled.

The practice game continued in the same vein. By the end of the game he had sunk every striped ball while she had hit in one solid 'by accident'.

"I think that's enough practice," he said while racking up the pool balls on the table again. "It's time for the real game to begin."

Cassandra leaned over the pool table towards him. "Well then, I guess we'll need a proper bet," she purred into his ear.

"If I win, you'll be coming home with me tonight," he said with a grin that was all malicious intent.

"And if I win," she asked.

"If you win, I'll give you whatever the hell you want," he laughed.

"Normal bets are with cash, right? How about if I win, I get whatever's in your wallet," she said innocently.

He took his wallet out and counted the cash, "that's almost two hundred dollars." His tone of voice was not amused.

"Aren't I worth it," she asked, playfully acting hurt and placing a hand over her heart. "Are you really going to put a price on me?"

"It doesn't matter," he smirked and threw the money down on a side table next to the drinks. There was a stack of empty cups there as well. Cassandra was probably on her third or fourth drink. "You won't be winning."

She raised her eyebrows and moved around the table until she was almost chest to chest with him. Looking up, she smiled and breathed into his ear, "we'll see about that. Maybe this time I'll try shooting left handed instead of right."

"Why don't you go first," he said with that same cocky expression. He moved around the other side of the table, presumably to get an eyeful of her cleavage as she bent over in the low cut top. This time she aimed with her left hand, and moved with a sharp and sure jab of her pool stick. The balls broke apart, causing two striped balls to spin into pockets.

"Look at that," she grinned. "I'm luckier already." He lost a bit of his cockiness then, swallowing and looking at the table.

"Just a bit of luck," he replied. "I'd like to see you do that again." The group around the table laughed.

"You're gonna be out of your money," one of the guys around the table called out.

The second game was over quickly. Cassandra missed the next shot on purpose to let him have his fair chance. He sank one before his turn was over. She sank the balls in quick succession while their audience grew restless. By the time the eight ball found it's home people were yelling.

"You hustled me out of my money," he accused her, getting right in her face. Her pool stick fell to rest against the table between them. "I'm not paying."

"A bet's a bet," she replied without missing a beat, all pretenses gone. "I won the game."

"I'm not paying up," he repeated angrily, "but you will." He wrapped a hand around her wrist tightly. The group, about four or five of them in total, watched while calling out jeers and unsavory names.

Moving quickly, she twisted her wrist in a motion that bent back his thumb in an unnatural angle, and kicked the pool stick up to hit him in the crotch. He yelped and fell down to the floor in pain as another guy, big and burly, came up to her. She used the end of her pool stick to catch the handle of a beer mug and flick it around, hitting him in the back of the head. Cassandra kneed him in the crotch and grabbed the back of his head, slamming it into the pool table.

The last two guys approached her from either side. Cassandra grabbed the edge of the pool and used it to hoist herself up before doing a roll over the top of the table. She managed to accidentally kick the fluorescent light hanging over the table and the light bulb emitted a shower of sparks as it shattered. One of the chains broke loose and swung the fixture wildly, sending the still sparking socket towards one of the angry mob members.

Cassandra ended her roll next to the side table with drinks, where she quickly pocketed her money. Her drink was almost finished; she shrugged and downed it in two quick gulps as the last assailant came around the side of the table. This one had a knife in hand, ready to go. She picked up a barstool next to her and put it, legs out, in front of her as protection. Vaguely she registered the bartender yelling in the background and something about the cops.

The man with the knife lunged towards her and she knocked his hand aside with the stool. His other hand attempted to grab onto a rung holding the legs together, but she spun it wildly and injured his wrist. He made to lunge with the knife again, and this time she managed to catch his arm between the rungs of the stool. Before he could see his error, she twisted the stool again, bending his arm in a motion that definitely broke a bone or two. She kicked at his crotch and he fell down to the ground incapacitated.

Unfortunately her pool partner was back on his feet as she was moving around the table again, blocking her exit towards the door. "Stop, you bitch," he yelled.

Closing her eyelids just enough, she tugged at his swirling aura of emotions before he could get any closer and replaced all of his anger with fear. It proved to be a risky move, as he kept coming. Cassandra grimaced; this happened every now and then. Instead of the fear paralyzing him, it propelled him forward and made him fight like his life was on the line.

She blocked his fist with her forearm, only taking a fraction of the blow as his arm went wide. He was too strong, and her speed only compensated a bit in this fight. Cassandra usually had her fights plotted out beforehand, knew what was going to happen before it did and acted accordingly. She didn't have that luxury this time.

Panicking, she pulled on something deep inside her, something she had never registered before. "Stop," she yelled, watching as he froze in place for a moment before coming towards her again. She looked around the room desperately. "Get the hell away from me," she screamed.

She could feel it then, feel the pull of his mind how she felt the pull of the emotions she controlled. Cassandra watched him take three steps away from her, eyes wide and blank like he wasn't quite there. One more step back and he slipped in a puddle of spilt beer and went careening into the pool table beneath the still sparking light fixture. One of the sparks ignited his shirt and it seemed to snap him out of his daze, as he tried to brush at the flame.

Cassandra turned and ran as fast as she could out of there, leaving burn marks with her tires as she peeled out of her spot. She stopped at the hotel room only long enough to grab her things and leave some money on the dresser.

The road stretched out before her, but she kept driving like the demons of hell were after her. No matter how much she sped, she couldn't get rid of the image of his face when she closed her eyelids, how wide and blank his eyes looked. She felt a power she had never had before. And she felt disturbed to her core.


	6. Chapter 6: Let's Drink About It

Cassandra drove until her vision began to blur. From tears or tiredness, she wasn't sure which. Maybe it was just the whiskey kicking in. Either way, she needed to pull over. She pulled off the interstate that she didn't remember getting onto and drove city street after city street, looking for a store that was still open. Thankfully she found a 24 hour minimart before she lost all hope and numbly went inside.

She grabbed several bottles this time and refused to talk to the cashier, instead slapping the change on the counter and staring at the bottle. The cashier asked her something, but it was like Cassandra had gone deaf. She saw his mouth moving, saw him motion towards her, but couldn't hear a thing. Instead she nodded, took her change from him, and headed out the door and into the car before he could stop her.

There was a cheap motel a few streets down where the man at the front desk didn't ask questions. He looked her up and down, took her information and cash up front, and gave her the key without comment. Grabbing her things, Cassandra collapsed onto the bed. She turned the TV on to have some noise in the background. The quiet was too dangerous.

The first bottle was gone in an hour. Cassandra hadn't even looked to see what it was, possibly rum? All she had tasted was the familiar burning sensation. Cracking open the second bottle with shaking hands she tried to block out what had happened; but she couldn't drink to forget, her memories always plagued her. No, she drank to not care, but one bottle wasn't enough.

She took a swig out of the second bottle and closed her eyes. Cassandra could still see him, wide eyed and staring at her. In that second he had known what was happening, even before she did. He could feel her controlling his mind, taking over. It was nowhere near close to controlling someone's emotions. It felt wrong, and a nauseating wave of guilt crashed over her afterwards.

It was unnatural, immoral, and fundamentally wrong what she had done. She felt the inside of his mind, his most private and intimate thoughts. That's what had made her feel so awful; being able to take control of another person like that and get inside their head, literally, _felt_ wrong, disturbing.

Cassandra took a longer swig out of the bottle to distract herself, but that was the wrong decision. She gagged on it, running to the bathroom and throwing up the entire contents of her stomach. That apparently was not good enough; her stomach turned again and she realized she was going to be there for a while. The alcohol started to kick in and everything got blurry. After who knows how long Cassandra collapsed on top of the bed, still in her clothes.

Her sleep was not peaceful. While Cassandra laid on top of the comforter like the dead, only the unsteady rise and fall of her chest showing any signs of movement, her dreams were vivid. It started with a memory, her family vacation when she was six. They had gone to the Grand Canyon.

She was holding on to the railing, leaning over as far as she could to try to see the bottom of it. Looking down at her hand, Cassandra realized it looked more like an adult's hand than a child's. In fact, she realized that she was in her normal body, not her six year old self.

"Cassie," her mother shouted to her from about ten feet away. She had been fumbling with her camera and hadn't noticed her daughter getting too close to the edge. "Cassie, get away from there now!" Her mother yanked her back and pulled her to a safer distance. "Do you have any idea how dangerous that is? You need to be more careful. I don't know what we would do without you."

Her mother was apparently not aware of how old she looked, reacting the same as she had when the trip took place the first time. "Mom," Cassandra asked, looking into the other woman's eyes. "Mom, is that really you?"

"Well, of course it's me," her mother said, sounding surprised. "Who else would I be? Honestly, dear, come away, let's go." Her mother held out her hand and Cassandra reached to take it, but somehow couldn't get across the sudden distance.

"Mom, I don't understand what's happening, I can't-," Cassandra tried to say.

A sudden look crossed her mother's face, something Cassandra couldn't quite interpret, but it looked like a deep sadness. "Cassie," her mother called out one last time.

The picture began to blur then and distort. It was hard to decipher any images around her as colors swirled and suddenly it felt like falling through a tunnel. Everything was dark and she had a dizzying sense of vertigo; it was almost strong enough to make her throw up.

When Cassandra couldn't take it anymore, the swirling darkness resolved itself into new images. She slowly pieced together an old wicker table and chair set surrounded by potted plants, and recognized with a shock her Grandmother Lucille's patio. Cassandra hadn't been there since she was twelve, the summer before her grandma had passed away.

Cassandra's grandma had been a sweet old lady, the type that had afternoon tea every day at 2 pm sharp, regardless of the day. She was also sharp as a tack, and could often intimidate people with her stern demeanor or endear them with her charm depending on the situation. Lucille had a way with people that had always awed Cassandra.

"Cassandra," a soft voice behind her said. She turned and saw her grandmother looking just as she had remembered her. Her hair was pinned up in an elegant bun while she wore a cool sun dress with a shawl wrapped around her shoulders. Her favorite emerald brooch sparkled from where it clasped the shawl together.

She walked towards her with outstretched arms and folded Cassandra into a hug. "It's been so long since I've seen you, dear. How are you?" Cassandra remembered this now. Her parents had just dropped her off while they went on an anniversary trip. She had spent a week curled up on this patio with a book and drinking tea in the shade.

"Grandma, I've missed you so much," Cassandra said with a shock. It was as if her lips moved of their own volition, and with a start she realized she was repeating the words in her memory.

"Come, let's have tea and catch up," her grandma said with a wave of her hand, inviting Cassandra to follow her. They seated themselves around the table and Cassandra poured herself a cup of tea with two lumps of sugar, just the way she used to drink it as a kid.

It was a surreal experience for Cassandra. Everything seemed to be moving faster than she remembered, like someone was fast forwarding through their conversation, but every moment of their conversation and laughter remained intact. Suddenly, the memory seemed to move slower, going to a more normal speed.

"Oh, Cassandra, you are growing into a fine young lady. I believe you're ready for the truth," her grandma said before taking a sip of her tea. Cassandra frowned; she definitely didn't remember this part. Had her dream changed it somehow?

But no, her lips kept moving as they had earlier, forming words of their own volition. "What do you mean, grandma?"

"Our family has always been different, Cassandra. I suspect some part of you knows that, deep down. You've always been bright, so quick to catch on. Have you never done something you can't explain," her grandmother asked.

"I don't understand," Cassandra said with a shake of her head, but her eyes were wide.

"We were meant for more, Cassandra dear. Our family is old, and our blood carries an ancient gift. Long ago, there was a kingdom named Avalon, and our ancestors lived in the halls and danced in the meadow there…but those were kinder times."

"Grandma, Avalon…," Cassandra said before breaking off. She tried to form her own words, to interrupt, but her mouth remained glued shut until the self in her memory regained her words. "Avalon isn't real, it was just a fairy tale, with King Arthur-,"

"It was real once, a real kingdom where magic existed," her grandmother's eyes focused on something in the distance, like she could see Avalon off in the distance. "That is our inheritance darling, magic. One day soon you will see. We were called fairies once, as well as witches. Our ancestors erected Stonehenge, survived the fall of Avalon, were burned at the stake, and continued on. Our bloodline has always been strong."

"Grandma," Cassandra said, still under the power of the memory. She felt tears start to prick at her eyes.

"You don't quite believe me, do you child? Of course, it's hard to accept at first, but that will come in time," her grandmother said kindly, and with a wave of her hand managed to raise her teacup a few inches off the table. She appeared not to be paying attention to it, instead staring dreamily at the sky. "Yes, our bloodline has always been strong. We're descended from the last queen to ever take the throne. Our family was born to rule."

Cassandra's eyebrows shot up; she certainly never remembered her grandma using magic, and she had certainly never heard the story of her heritage before. Even as she watched the teacup twirl, she noticed the images around her begin to melt and swirl into different colors. Everything became a confusing haze of light and color until it settled around her again.

At first it appeared that nothing had changed; she was still at her grandma's house, this time in the sitting room inside. Her bags were piled in the corner, and Cassandra realized that it must have been when her father came to pick her up. She was broken from her reverie by shouts coming from the kitchen.  
"You had no right to tell her," her dad yelled, banging a fist on the countertop.

Her grandmother's dignified expression never faltered. "I had every right to tell her. This is her gift, her birthright, and she deserves to know about it. You can't hide this from her forever."

"I can damn well try," her dad said angrily.

"It was my right as matriarch of this family. She will inherit power, great power, and if she's unprepared-"

"And you've been what, preparing her," her dad asked acidly. Her grandmother remained silent, keeping eye contact with her dad. Her dad's eyes widened. "You have been, haven't you? You've been teaching her!"

"I taught her only enough to help her survive. She has amazing potential already! To see the future, to interpret and manipulate emotion, to-," her grandma started before she was broken off.

"That's more power than she'd know what to do with right now," her dad glowered. "She's still a child, still trying to figure the world out. She should have been older, more ready to undertake this."

"She's ready now," her grandmother replied. "I've taught her the basics, and she can learn more. In just a week's time she's gained so much. You can't take that away from her."

"I will, until she's ready," he replied. "It'll be like this never happened."

Cassandra stared wide eyed at the scene in front of her as her vision became blurry. She hadn't realized the tears were stinging at her eyes until they started to spill down her face. When her power came to her, she had always thought it was a natural instinct, but this suppressed memory suggested otherwise. Had her grandma really taught her how to control it?

The scene presented so many unanswered questions that it left her head spinning. In fact, it took Cassandra a second before she realized she couldn't hear them anymore. It was like someone had pushed the mute button. Their mouths still moved, and her dad kept making angry gestures with his hands, but it was all soundless. Color started to seep out, and then everything was black.

New images started to present themselves in front of her, but it was different than the memories. Before she had felt immersed in the picture, but now it felt more like a movie reel was projecting footage in her mind. The images were a little off-colored, marked with a strange bluish tint that led Cassandra to believe it was actually a glimpse of the future, tinged with magic.

The very first image she was able to hone in on was a skyscraper towering high above her. The next was a burning chunk of it falling to the ground. All around her she saw a city in flames, screaming people, and aircraft soaring above her that looked alien. She thought it looked vaguely familiar to the battle of New York, but it was off somehow, like it wasn't quite the same.

The image shifted suddenly, and Cassandra was swept off her feet by the sensation. Falling to her knees, she took in the garden that stretched out around her. A maze of hedges connected picturesque statues, colorful flowerbeds, and tall shady trees. There was a statue standing before her, but the man looked foreign. He was clothed in what looked like robes that flowed in amazing detail despite the bronze he was made of. The helmet he wore looked more reminiscent of older times. She got the peculiar sensation that she was in a different land.

A shadow moved behind her before she could catch a real glimpse. All she could make out was a tall figure with curved horns. For some reason, she got the impression she should be running from it. Scrambling to her feet, Cassandra tried to run as far as she could from the figure before it could appear again. Turning a corner in the maze, the scene had changed once again.

This time she recognized the view immediately. The motel's sign was half lit up, and the eerie red glow reflected off the roof tiles. It was enough light to make out the door numbers, specifically hers. Cassandra could see her car off to the side of the parking lot, where a figure was looking into the windows. It appeared to be a man, all in dark clothing.

A passing car swept it's headlights over the figure, making the pistol in his belt glint. Belatedly she realized the figure was League. With that sudden revelation, Cassandra bolted upright with her heart hammering in her chest. She could sense with utmost certainty League's approach and jolted out of bed, scrambling to pack up what things she could.

She knew she had less than two minutes to make a safe getaway and could acutely feel each agonizing second pass. The alcohol still in her system made her head groggy and slightly uneasy, but she shook it off as best she could while cursing her own stupidity. Her fingers numbly grabbed at everything she could reach as she threw it into her duffel and tossed the laptop in.

Belatedly she remembered the preparations she had made for this instance and reached deep in the duffel until she found an aluminum foil package, which she placed behind the bed. She kept the little modified car key remote for it in the palm of her hand, thumb hovering over the button. Taking one last look around the room, Cassandra cautiously closed her eyes and looked into the future.

There was just enough time as she ran to the door and bolted outside to the nearest car, hiding behind it. Thankfully this side of the parking lot was relatively crowded, which meant a safer spot to hide. Carefully strapping the duffel bag over her shoulder, she maneuvered around the cars while keeping her eyes on the spot she had first seen League appear. Tucked safely behind a tire, he wouldn't be able to see her at all.

Slowly the shadowy figure came into sight. It paused at her car for a few moments and she took that opening to inch forward a bit behind the next car before he stepped forward into the light. Cassandra had only seen League while looking down the barrel of his gun and while this wasn't the best view, it was better. He looked tall, and very muscular; the kind of guy that was used to advertise those ten-dollar-a-month gym plans.

Cassandra knew that her timing over the next two minutes would be very important if she wanted to keep making sarcastic comments above ground. As soon as she saw him kick open the door and step over the threshold into the motel room she was off and running, keeping low to the ground. It felt like a blur as she tossed the duffel bag in and started up the car. Choosing that moment, she pushed down on the button with more force than necessary and saw the bright flare from behind her as the flash grenade went off, hopefully blinding him. She heard the gunshots as she peeled out of the parking lot, but it hardly mattered. The car kept going, and so did she.

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The Avengers got about a hundred different "tips" a day, mainly nonsense messages. Someone's ex has the power to control hearts and forced him to give up his gaming system, an angry drunk had the power of ten men. Nonsense. Natasha combed through some of the tips, but left most of it up to their support team at Avengers headquarters, which consisted of old SHIELD employees. She and Wilson might have been running point on things, but they sorted through the bulk of the crap to find important stuff.

Which is exactly how a file pinged into her inbox with the headline "Mystery Woman Burns Bar". She skimmed over the police report, and then read it more in depth when she caught the gist of it. Apparently a woman described as "young and brunette" entered a bar in Adams County, Massachusetts and started a fight resulting in a fire. What grabbed Natasha's attention was the eyewitness that claims she had the power to control his mind. It seemed like a close enough match to investigate, especially while the trail was so fresh.

They were on the ground within an hour, investigating. Steve asked local law enforcement some generalized questions while Wilson talked to the eyewitness still on the scene, the bartender. They were informed that several other witnesses were being treated in the hospital for various injuries.

"It was like nothing I've ever seen, man," the bartender told Sam. "She strolled into the bar like she was trouble, and I'll be damned if she didn't live up to it. Took on every last person in the bar and walked away like it was nothing, without a single scratch. And my bar…" he trailed off, looking mournfully up at the blaze.

"Sorry to hear about it," Sam replied. "So this girl, did she give you a name at all? Maybe you caught a glimpse of her car?"

"Never did get her name. From what I saw she had parked across the street, but I didn't get a good look. All I could tell was she was driving a dark four door," the bartender said before pausing for a while. "If I tell you something, how seriously you gonna take it?"

"Anything you've got to say, I want to hear it," Sam said.

The bartender sighed. "She was hustling pool, you know. The guy she was playing, Jim, he's a regular. Not decent folk, but he's level headed enough. I've seen him a lot. When everything went down and the fire started he was yelling about her being in his head. Said she was controlling him. I thought he went crazy at first, but then I remembered the way she had looked at him before she left the bar, and well…I wouldn't think it's so crazy."

"I see," Sam said with a nod. "Thanks for the talk."

Sam moved to meet up with Steve and Natasha, who were already off in a corner talking. He could hear their lowered voices speaking urgently. "I think we've got something here. Our bartender seems to think something freaky went down."

"This is definitely our girl," Natasha replied. "She's starting to look like quite the pyromaniac too. While you boys were chit chatting I picked up some surveillance footage from across the street, got a clear image of her entering a black four door. If she keeps this one around for longer than two seconds we'll have her."

"Good. Set up a scanner on every camera we can in a hundred mile radius," Steve said. "I've got a feeling we're catching up."

It wasn't long before they pieced together a trail of traffic cameras. They lost sight on the interstate for a bit, but made up for it with a programming system. The camera footage put her within a block radius of a small town, and there weren't many escape routes she could have taken without being noticed. Odds are she was still there.

Natasha's driving might have reminded Steve of riding in World War II era tanks, but it did save them valuable time. They pulled up to the fringe of the radius and began to strategize. Sam had pulled up a city map, and they determined the likeliest places. They were just finalizing things when a loud bang interrupted them.

Steve immediately took off running as fast as he could in the direction of the noise, with Sam taking off in the air to get a better view and Natasha revving the engine as she peeled out to follow. In fact, Steve thought he heard another car's tires squealing before gunshots echoed. Turning a corner, he took in a motel's parking lot and a man in all black with a pistol drawn. Pulling up his shield just in time, Cap reflected the bullet and ducked back around the corner.

"I don't know about you, but that sure doesn't look like a girl to me," Sam said over their comms system.

"Looks like we found our mystery boot," Natasha said, as she pulled up in the SUV. "How you want to run this, Cap?"

"Just give me some cover," Steve replied, and stood around the other side of the SUV. Natasha rolled the car forward and a shower of bullets rained off the bulletproof exterior while Steve crouched safely on the other side. They watched as the man in black threw down the pistol and drew an automatic rifle from behind him. Sam wheeled overhead, narrowly missing bullets as he fired down his own ammo. Once the SUV was close enough, Steve gave the signal.

"Now," he yelled and darted out from behind the vehicle, throwing his shield directly at their new friend in black. It hit with enough force to knock him back ten feet into the wall and ricochet the shield back to Cap. The rifle skidded into Cap's field of vision, which lead him to advance with caution.

However, their new friend was not unarmed. He pulled something from his pocket and threw it with all his might, narrowly missing Cap. It rolled underneath a nearby car, which is when Steve realized it looked more like a grenade. There wasn't much time to react as Steve had to wedge himself between two cars for cover. The explosion came quickly and tossed the car above it high into the air.

Coughing from the smoke, Cap emerged from between the cars unhurt. It appeared that Natasha was unharmed inside the SUV, while Sam had stayed far enough away. Turning to the spot where their assailant had been, Steve was unsurprised to find him gone. That meant there were now two people they had to track down.


	7. Chapter 7: So That's Where Waldo's Been

A/N: Hi everyone, please don't hate me! This chapter was for some reason incredibly hard for me to write. Anyway, here it is. Sorry if there might be a few mistakes but I had surgery a few days ago and I'm still on pain medicine for it. On the plus side, I might be able to get another chapter done before I go back to work. This story will continue on before the events of Civil War, and will remain spoiler free of the movie for at least the next month or so. Once again, sorry it took so long, and hopefully I'll feel well enough to focus on writing right now. Also, a very special thank you to everyone who has reviewed my story. If it wasn't for your reviews, I would think this story is awful.

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Chapter Seven: So That's Where Waldo's Been

Cassandra was getting really tired of this cat and mouse thing. Being the cat was fun, but the mouse…There had to be a way to get rid of League. Someone had to have dirt on him, some weakness she could exploit. All she needed was to do a little more digging. He was from Eastern Europe, she knew that much, and if he was well known enough for the people in the chat forum to know of him, he might have a record somewhere. No one gets that good at what they do without leaving a few footprints.

With a sigh, Cassandra cut the engine and got out of the car, dragging with her whatever was necessary. It really was a nice car, and she felt bad about what she was about to do, but with League so close to her there wasn't much she could afford to leave a loose end. Dumping out a bottle of cheap vodka over the interior, she made sure to really let it soak in. She took out a box of matches while she waited for the alcohol to seep in and lit a couple, watching the flame burn down closer and closer to her fingertips. After she couldn't wait much longer, she struck a new match to life and threw it onto the driver's seat. The flames spread quickly and engulfed the interior in less than a minute.

Looking around, Cassandra picked a fairly decent spot. It looked like an abandoned lumber yard, and so long as a freak wind didn't catch it the flames wouldn't spread beyond the cracked pavement. Someone would eventually catch the smoke from out here, but by then the car would be torched. Her watch said it was a little after midnight. Not the ideal time for a hike through the woods, but she supposed it would be good cover. As luck would have it, she found a stream not too far in and was able to follow it towards civilization.

Rambling through the town, Cassandra found a bus station a few blocks in. The buses were done for the night, but thankfully the center was kept unlocked. A map of the state was hanging on the far wall and she moved closer to take a look. With a sigh of relief she realized she was about forty miles away from the cheap motel. It wasn't very far, but she didn't think anyone would look for her so close, and certainly not in a bus terminal. It didn't fit her pattern at all. Curling up on a bench with her stuff beneath her, she pulled a jacket over herself and tried to get a few hours of sleep.

The sound of footsteps on tile woke her before the sun had risen. Cassandra sat up instantly alert and saw a middle aged woman in a bright vest walking towards her. She had bags under her eyes and black hair that was just turning grey.

"Sorry to wake you, honey, I was just getting my keys for the day," the woman said as she unlocked a door by the side entrance and walked through. Cassandra heard a drawer slide open and shut before the woman came back and relocked the door. "Did you sleep here all night? Those benches aren't very comfortable."

"I came back from visiting my parents early," Cassandra lied. "My boyfriend didn't come to pick me up."

"Hope you mean ex boyfriend now," the woman replied.

"Apparently he was too busy with another woman, so I'd say yes," Cassandra replied.

It was better to gain sympathy from strangers, it made them less suspicious. When people are too busy feeling sorry for you, they tended to forget important details like your appearance or where you were going. She could have _made_ the woman more sympathetic by using her powers, but the thought still made her nauseous inside after the bar incident.

The bus driver clicked her tongue and shook her head in sympathy while clipping on a nametag. Helen. "Honey, I'll take you wherever you wanna go, you've been through enough. "

Cassandra paused for a moment before she answered. "I'd like to go to Albany, however far you can take me."

"Is that where you're parents live," Helen asked.

Cassandra flinched a bit at the statement reflexively. "No, no, it's where my sister lives. I'd rather go stay with her for a bit." She let her voice trail off like she was about to cry and looked down.

Helen all but ushered her onto the bus and Cassandra settled into the seat behind her. The driver prattled on about this and that, keeping up a steady stream of one sided conversation: they were redoing the construction on the interstate again, baseball season was starting up, and other things topics of disinterest. At one point they passed a field of wind turbines and Cassandra nodded her head along absently to Helen's voice. She took Cassandra's nod as a cue to be quiet, and the silence stretched over them as more passengers climbed aboard. She shut her eyes for most of the drive and tried in vain to go back to sleep. It seemed like only minutes had passed before Helen announced they were at her stop.

Cassandra stood up and dug some cash out of her pocket to pay, but Helen put a hand up to stop her. "Keep it," she said. "Go out to breakfast with your sister." With a shrug and a smile, Cassandra stepped off the bus and looked around. The city was starting to get busy, which was both a good and bad thing. She wouldn't stand out as much in a crowd, but there were also more eyes. Her stomach started to growl and she decided her first move would be the McDonald's across the street.

Sitting off in a corner with her luggage, Cassandra thought through her next steps as she ate. No one appeared to take much interest in her, so she allowed herself to settle back into the seat and close her eyes, envisioning different routes to take. She didn't notice any immediate danger in staying in Albany, so for the present it would work. Sometimes being constantly on the move was riskier than staying put.

If she was going to stay in town, Cassandra would need two things: a place to stay, and transportation that wasn't public. The last thing she wanted was to get busted off of video surveillance from a city bus. Pulling out the laptop, she looked up cheap hotels in the area and then used her powers to narrow it down. Eventually she found a suitable hotel with few cameras and far enough out from the center of the city that she could still make a clean getaway.

With that out of the way, Cassandra could work on a clean set of wheels. Ideally, she would take the car and be out of the area before the police started searching for it. However, there were plenty of morally ambiguous tips and tricks up her sleeve. Exploring the area with Google maps a little more, Cassandra went outside and hailed down a taxi.

"I need to get across town, to the River Inn," Cassandra said as she scrambled into the backseat. "But do me a favor, I'm hoping to avoid any traffic past Market Street, can you cut down Poplar and go through the subdivisions?"

"Sure thing, sweetheart, but it's gonna cost more," the scraggly looking driver said. Cassandra threw a wad of cash at him and he went silent, pulling out onto the road.

Cassandra looked out the window the entire ride, seemingly enjoying the view. What she was really on the lookout for was cars. Every region had a specific make and model that was more prominent. Here it looked like a Toyota Corolla. Eyeing a target, she made a mental note of the location and sat back in her seat.

The first thing she did when she got to the hotel was crash. Cassandra felt so exhausted and spent that the only thing she cared about was sleep; she didn't even bother to change out of her clothes. The second her head hit the pillow, it was lights out. In fact, it was lights out when she woke up too. The sun was starting to set outside and very little light was showing through the cheap curtains.

Yawning, Cassandra got up to take a shower and change into some fresh clothes. She set off down the street towards a gas station, picking up a few slices of pizza, a bottle of Coke, and a few of those mini shots filled with whiskey. The pizza was mediocre, even for gas station pizza, but she figured she had probably made worse life choices before as she shrugged and took a bite.

Unfortunately, the best method of transportation at the moment was once again the city bus. She sighed as she sat down at the bus stop and poured the whiskey in her Coke. It probably wasn't smart in light of last night's events, but Cassandra didn't really care. The bus pulled up, and she stayed on until the courthouse came into view.

Walking along the street like she belonged there, Cassandra paused in front of her target: a Toyota Corolla that was racking up parking tickets across the dash. Clearly, somebody didn't make their bail money. Double checking the area, she quickly pried the door open and got inside while thinking she was probably doing this person a favor. It already looked like someone had stolen and ransacked it inside. There were holes in the upholstery and scattered papers, receipts, and debris across the floorboards. How inconsiderate.

At least the engine started up quickly, for which she was thankful. Her next step would be to go back down Poplar street, to find her earlier target. There was a church down the street and Cassandra pulled into the far corner of the lot. Taking her screwdriver out, she removed the license plate off the back and stuffed it inside her jacket where no one could see it.

Trying to consciously put out vibes that said ' _don't look at me, I'm not committing a crime'_ , Cassandra set off down the street towards her end goal. Earlier she had seen a prime target: a Corolla sat at the top of an otherwise empty driveway. The grass was a lot longer there than the neighbor's, and a few packages were stacked by the door. It looked like whoever lived at the house was out of town. Of course, the neighbor's would notice if the car went missing, but she had no intention of stealing it.

Working as fast as she could, Cassandra swapped out the plates and returned back to the stolen Corolla, putting on the new plate. It would hopefully be a while before anyone noticed the switch up, and it would buy her some time if the police started checking plates for the stolen car. Feeling oddly proud of herself, Cassandra returned to the motel.

It seemed like there were no new leads about League, which frustrated the hell out of her. Taking a deep breath, she reminded herself of her original goal; finding Augustus Leitner. At the time, she had just been searching for a safe place to run to in her liquor filled state, but thinking back on last night while she was running, Cassandra remembered a strange blue glow around the corners of her vision, the telltale signs of magic. She had a feeling she was compelled to come to Albany for something more.

This time she tried searching for anything to do with HYDRA near Albany, scouring the darknet for clues. Combing through some more leads, Cassandra eventually found something of interest. There was a newspaper article detailing a conglomerate of companies working on renewable energy in the area. At first glance it looked like a pet project or tax write-off for big corporations, but one of the smaller companies listed was actually a dummy company for HYDRA. Cassandra recognized the name from earlier searches.

Reading the first couple of paragraphs, it looked like they had installed wind turbines across the county, similar to the ones Helen had pointed out on the bus. She kept reading, but it appeared the article was just listing the science behind it. It didn't really make sense though. Why would HYDRA have invested in wind turbines? At the end of the article was a group of pictures. None of them caught Cassandra's eye until the last one. It was a landscape shot, detailing the newly constructed field of turbines with a big shiny fence and no trespassing signs.

That's what HYDRA was after, it had to be. For a few million dollars they get a government sanctioned private playground. There had to be something out in that field worth keeping hidden, and she had a feeling what it was. Underground bunkers were HYDRA's bread and butter like any evil secret organization. The only problem was figuring out how to access it, and if it was still active.

A ten minute search had pulled up the blueprints on the project, and two plots of land in particular where the dummy corporation had donated funds. Cassandra grimaced; it looked like over a hundred and fifty acres of land. It was going to be a little more difficult than she thought. Her powers wouldn't help much here either. In order to find something using her precognition, she had to first envision every possible outcome; trying to sort through every outcome in a playing field this large, where the bunker would be well hidden, would take time she didn't have.

 _Looks like it'll be the old fashioned way_ , Cassandra thought to herself. Needles and haystacks weren't really her thing. She was more of a fish in a barrel sort of girl. Still, she knew when it was time to suck it up and put on her boots. She packed a small bag with a water bottle, a flashlight, a flask, and a printed out map before heading out to the Corolla. She had already accessorized earlier with her guns and knives. Was any outfit ever complete without a weapon shoved down the side of her boot?

She thought about if it was better to wait for the next morning, but decided against it; if there was a bunker, and it was still in use, they would see her more easily in the daylight. Besides, any secret base would have been made out of the public eye so no one would see people coming and going. If she did get caught, she could always pretend she was an intern for the city's agriculture department checking on the turbines and nighttime wildlife in the area.

She started at the smaller plot of land, hoping that she wouldn't have to go to the bigger site at all. It was off the main road quite a way, which held some promise, but the interstate was still partially in view. Looking around, it seemed like nothing but corn fields and an edge of the interstate nearby. Cassandra decided she didn't need to check any further than that; it was too easy for someone driving by to see people moving in and out of the area, and there was no place to hide vehicles.

Sighing, Cassandra drove towards the larger site and circled it a few times with her car to get a feel of the land. At least this site had a better fit. There were a few barns in the area that looked abandoned, which would afford her a decent place to hide her car once she checked them out. No major roadways were nearby, and in fact it looked like this area was partnered with a wildlife shelter area that bordered it. All in all, it meant very few unwanted visitors.

Except for Cassandra, that is. She pulled up to a barn and left the car in park while she went inside to check it out. The inside was completely empty, but it looked like it was in good condition. In other words, it didn't look like a building that had been tossed aside for twenty years. Mentally putting up a Proceed With Caution sign, she holstered the pistol in her boot and went on her way.

There was really nothing quite like tripping in a field in pitch black darkness to really get your Friday night kicked off just right. She figured that she could work her way in a patchwork pattern, just like she did with minesweeper. That way, Cassandra could partially use her precognition and speed things up just a tad.

After about an hour and a half, Cassandra decided to take a small break. At the very least, she couldn't see her starting point and that was something to feel glad about. Living in New York meant she was fairly used to walking a lot of places, but the ground was rough. The grass grew in long, uneven clumps that were easy to trip you up in the darkness if you weren't paying attention. She sat down on the driest area she could and took a long swig out of her flask.

It had been particularly cloudy that night, but just then the moon peeked through the cover and reflected off the metal flask. She twisted it around this way and that, idly watching the reflected light bounce around. It hit something reflective on the base of a wind turbine. It looked like one of those reflective plastic pieces on the backs of bikes so drivers could see them on the side of the road. Getting closer, she realized it was some sort of sticker. Oddly enough though, she didn't remember seeing it on the other turbines she had passed.

What would be the purpose of a plain reflective sticker? Testing a sudden theory, Cassandra put her back to it and swung her flashlight around. The beam passed several turbines before reflecting off another sticker in the distance. She repeated this process a few more times. As she reached the fourth sticker, she spun around and couldn't find another. Either the next sticker had peeled off, or there was no more trail.

 _If I were a secret entrance, where would I be_ , Cassandra thought to herself. The ground around the area was all relatively even, and it was hard to find any difference in the dark. _Well, fuck it._ Her cover was already blown if anyone was nearby; she decided to amble around, stomping through the grass to try to find any clues. They would have set up security measures by any entrance, so either she was about to get an impromptu party complete with fireworks, or radio silence.

She was crossing over the same spot for the third time when she felt the ground give. Not enough to cause alarm, but it did feel substantially less solid than the area around it. Crouching, she moved around the area, trying to get a feel for how wide it was. At about four feet in diameter, Cassandra doubted this was the main entrance. This felt more like an emergency exit/secret late night beer run entrance.

It took her a minute but Cassandra eventually found a hidden latch. Taking a deep breath, she pulled the hatch open and swung her legs in while trying to judge the distance down. Her landing was less graceful than she hoped, but at least she was on her feet. The room was no more than six feet in diameter with probably an eight foot ceiling. Hardly a grand HYDRA entrance. _Definitely the secret beer run entrance._

Closing her eyes, Cassandra took a moment to listen for any movement and then focusing on looking into the future. The area appeared to be empty for the time being, and she settled back into a more cautious state, pulling her knife out of its sheath and moving towards the inner door.

Cassandra carefully turned the door handle and let it slide inward before tapping her knife handle against it. "Knock knock. Anyone home? I'm here to talk to you about our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ." Still smirking at her own joke, she stepped into the long hallway and looked at both sides. Plain doors stretched up and down the length at a regular span, which provided no help in picking a direction. She decided on the left side and inspected the nearest door.

 _What do evil scientists keep in their secret lairs anyway?_ Cassandra peeked through a crack and decided the room seemed safe enough. Pushing the door open all the way, she shined her flashlight around for a better view. _Some lounge chairs, a pool table…oh and look, a bar. Figures._ She closed the door and kept going. She wasn't really sure what she was looking for. Surely important rooms had important looking doors?

The hallway seemed to stretch on, looping around and veering off into smaller hallways. It reminded her of an ant hill, which made Cassandra think of those YouTube videos where they pour liquid metal into them. It made a cool sculpture, but had to kill everything inside. _If only there was a way to heat up that much metal out here._

She was lost in thought and had to back up a few spaces after passing a door that looked sturdier than the rest and was made entirely of metal. The important looking door. Slowly, she pushed open the door while keeping one hand on her gun. Rows of desks filled up the entire room, like an office cubicle in Hell. The desks were cleared of paperwork on top, but one of drawers left ajar suggested they were still filled with files.

This was both the easiest and most boring part of the job, and Cassandra almost wished there were still people running around this place that she could interrogate instead. Resigning herself to spending the next several hours covered in dusty paper cuts, she grabbed a few files out of the first desk and skimmed through, noticing a pattern. It seemed like they had categorized the files, which was in her favor.

Skipping through several desks, Cassandra located the employee files with ease. As much fun as sitting in an office cubicle in silence for several hours would be, she grabbed an empty suitcase tossed to the side and threw the entire contents of the desk drawers inside. Skimming the other desks to see if there was anything else important, she made her exit.

Cassandra toyed with the idea of blowing up the base before deciding against it. It might have tipped off someone she was looking for. Besides, it would be much more therapeutic to return after this mess was all over with a bag of marshmallows and really live it up.


	8. Chapter 8: Russian Roulette

Chapter Eight: Russian Roulette Isn't the Same With A Semi Automatic

Cassandra wasn't sure what would kill her first, the boredom or a wicked paper cut. She sat cross legged at the end of the bed with papers spread out in piles around her. A can of coke mixed with whiskey balanced on her knee. The radio was on in the background to muffle out the sound of other people coming and going outside the door. It was awfully loud for the early afternoon. She went to take a sip of her coke and cussed as one of the piles of papers slid to the floor.

"Damn it!" Cassandra tried to save the rest of the stack from sliding into the one next to it. Everything was supposed to be grouped by years, and it had taken several hours to organize. She moved t o the ground with a sigh and started restacking things, cussing every chance she could. The sooner she got done with these musty smelling papers the better.

About 20 minutes in one of the folders she grabbed slipped upside down, spilling its entire contents across the floor. "Fuck everything," Cassandra growled as she leaned forward to pick up the old pictures that slipped out. As she picked up one in particular, it gave her an odd feeling that made her pause. It wasn't quite a vision, but it was a peculiar feeling in the pit of her stomach. The edges were yellowed and old, with cursive writing on the back. "Experimental Entry, 1987. New recruits pass tests for admittance."

Flipping the photo over, Cassandra did a quick scan of the photo. It looked like a group of about a dozen men and women in lab coats gathered around a table. Instinctively, she knew one of them was Leitner. She had never talked with the man, and only vaguely remembered him talking to another doctor once. However, she never saw anyone without those damn operating masks on to cover half their face. Still, if there was a picture in the file, there had to be paperwork for it somewhere.

With renewed interest, Cassandra tore into the file and the ones around it, looking for all new recruits from 1987. Unfortunately, there seemed to be no rhyme or reason to how they were filed, meaning entry dates and scientific fields meant nothing. While the picture narrowed things down a bit, it took several hours to gather every file she could on Leitner. Most of it was about his entry and older work; it looked like none of the files were older than 2002.

Thankfully she wasn't interested in knowing where he'd been, she was looking for where he was going next. For that, all she needed was a picture, something she could focus on. Skimming through the files for a picture was easy after that, and she finally landed on a picture of three men surrounding a replica of a double helix from 2001. One of them had to be him.

Closing her eyes, she focused on the first man, the one on the left. After several frustrating minutes, she realized she was going nowhere. Either that man had no more place in the future, or her powers were messed up after the events of the last several days, which she highly suspected. Turmoil was bad for controlling her powers, and she had been through more than one pile of crap lately. Cassandra closed her eyes again and leaned her head back against the bed. It felt like every time she won, she lost. _Well, more than one way to skin a cat._

At the very least, the information she dug up would be useful to have, but not lug around. After a quick trip to the store she was the proud owner of a portable scanner, and spent the rest of her time separating what she deemed was useful information and what wasn't. Cassandra kept most of the employee records since it was impossible to tell what else would be relevant, and trashed the rest of it in a dumpster fire a block away. A new flash drive now held everything she would need anyway.

In a final last ditch effort, she took the photo of the three men and did an image search on the internet, curious if anything would turn up. At first it was a lot of nothing, but scrolling through the results Cassandra found an article with a picture of the man to the far right. Apparently he got hired on at a small college in Ithaca, if the article was to be believed. He had more than a passing resemblance to the old HYDRA employee; surely it had to be the same man?

Either way, it was about as good of a lead as she was going to get and her stomach was telling her to go for it. Time flew past her as she packed her things up and drove off. It was like she was in a trance as she stared out the car window and contemplated her next move. Well, the first step would be to set up shop near the college, scope it out, and figure out how to approach her target. The next step was picking out the funeral arrangement.

Actually, the next step for Cassandra was hiding the information she received. She figured she wouldn't necessarily need it, so it was better to hide it where it wouldn't be found. A couple of streets over, she found just what she was looking for: an old abandoned brick house with boarded up windows, covered in just the right amount of graffiti. The house said, 'I'm stable enough to not be condemned any time soon, but in a part of town no one wants to invest in'. In short, it wouldn't be visited any time soon.

Using all of her convenient knowledge from reruns of HGTV, she managed to loosen a brick around the back of the house. Quickly, she hollowed out the side of it and stuck the flash drive inside before placing it back in the wall and patching it up. Just to make sure she wouldn't lose its spot, she pulled out some spray paint and marked right above it.

"Leviticus 11:15," Cassandra read as she finished up the job. Not something that would be seen elsewhere around here, she decided.

It was three in the morning before Cassandra could convince herself to go to sleep, and she slept restlessly all night. Her dreams were filled with visions, but they were so short and scattered, with no rhyme or reason, that felt more like broken shards of glass than anything else. Glimpses of gun fire, an explosion, sinking into deep water, a woman's piercing scream, a dark room with needles looming closer and closer. Finally, the sensation of plummeting off the side of a skyscraper woke her up.

Gasping for breath, Cassandra focused on slowing down her racing heart beat and took a swig out of the bottle on the nightstand. At least the clock on the wall said nine in the morning; that was an acceptable amount of sleep for once. Not that she felt particularly rested. Stretching and yawning, she climbed out of bed and headed to take a shower and change. After all, it was her first day at college.

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Natasha's heels clicked along the hallway at an alarmingly fast rate, Steve could hear them from down the hall. That was a good sign; anything time sensitive was important. "What did you find, Nat," he asked before she had even entered the room. Sam looked up from the screens spread out in front of them.

"Traffic cam from Albany," she replied. "It was the only shot we could find, she must have missed the camera there. Clear view of her and the license plate on the car she's driving."

"I don't suppose you already ran the plates," Steve asked. Natasha nodded, clearly trying to get him to cut to the chase. "Alright, so where's the car at now?"

"The owner's driveway. It never moved," she responded.

"Okay," Sam responded, finally setting down the file in his hand and giving his full attention. "Either it's one hell of a magic trick, or not the same car."

"Local law enforcement went to check it out already. The vin number on the car is the same, but it looks like she swapped plates with a similar car," Natasha said.

"Well, she's good at trying to cover her tracks," Steve replied. "Let's get an APB out on the plates she's driving with. Maybe we can get ahead of her for once."

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College, as it turned out, was apparently an experience worth missing. After getting dressed and prepping a few things to take with her, Cassandra wandered around an enormous building looking for room C328, which was where Dr. Jakob Weber could be found on a Tuesday at 1:45 pm giving a lecture in a large hall fit for at least a hundred students. She took a seat in the back of the room, pulled out a pen, and proceeded to pick at her nails through the lecture. Her attention was focused on boiling up as much hatred as she could for the man speaking at the bottom of the lecture hall.

"Hey," a voice next to her whispered. She turned to give a sideways look to the guy a few seats over from her. "Aren't you gonna take notes? I heard there's supposed to be a surprise test Thursday over everything, and you know how brutal his tests can be."

"Actually," she replied, leaning towards him, "I heard it's supposed to be cancelled. He's gonna be out of town."

"Really," he asked with a frown. "But I thought he just said like ten minutes ago he was going over chapter eight on Thursday?"

"Must have slipped his mind. Trust me, there's not going to be class Thursday," she responded with a smirk, turning to face the lecture again. Out of the corner of her eye she could see the guy next to her shrug and turn forward too, still typing away at his computer to take notes.

It was hard to see Dr. Weber from this far in much detail, but he did look like an older version of the man from the picture. Begrudgingly, Cassandra admitted that he had aged well. It was easy to see his younger self hidden behind the lines in his face. Shrugging it off, she figured it didn't matter. He wouldn't stay looking that pristine and youthful for much longer.

What was truly amazing was how long the man could drone on for. There was apparently a lot to say about influenza; Cassandra almost felt a pang of pity for his students before she figured she'd put them out of their misery soon. His accent was still think despite how long he must have spent in America, making it difficult at times for the students around her to hurriedly jot down notes.

She stared around at the sea of bodies surrounding her; many of them were her age. Cassandra wondered idly if under different circumstances she might have been one of them. Stuck inside on a nice afternoon, listening to an overpaid old man drone on about something she would forget in a few months. She probably would have gone to college; her grades were good in high school, and her parents would have wanted it.

What had she wanted to be when she was little, a vet, a doctor? Cassandra vaguely remembered herself in high school. She had wanted to go into teaching. It was the only place she ever really saw herself doing something good. The thought was laughable now. She had no future anymore; it had been taken from her, by the man lecturing just a few yards away. And soon, she would take his.

Cassandra was so wrapped up in her own thoughts that she almost missed when the class was dismissed. Weber, as he was known there, called after his students to not forget their individual lab assignments for Thursday. It didn't matter; Thursday's class would never come. She almost felt bad for the poor students who would slave away at their assignments, only to have them go ungraded.

A numb feeling spread throughout her as she slowly climbed out of her seat. Cassandra's legs woodenly carried her down the steps where Weber was busy collecting his papers. His back was to her. The door swung shut with a heavy thud as the last student hurried out. Surely the door, the walls, were thick enough for what she had planned.

"If you're going to ask for an extension on your assignment, don't bother," he said without turning around. "There's no excuse for not completing it on time."

"Typical," Cassandra said with a breathy laugh she didn't feel. There was a cold tone to her voice that made him pause, although he hadn't turned around yet. "But that's not why I'm here. You're a smart man, I'm sure you've figured it out by now."

"I've put that past behind me," he said slowly as he pivoted around to face her with his hands up in the air.

"Ah, but I'm right in front of you, aren't I," Cassandra said with a cold smile. "Kinda funny, isn't it? How the past has a way of never letting you go. No matter what you do, how far you get, it finds you. Reminds you of what you really are."

"Please, I've left HYDRA-,"

"Do you really think I care," Cassandra interrupted. "If I did, do you really think I would have tracked you down to this God forsaken college? You might have changed your present, but you'll never change your past. There's _nothing_ you can do to bring back everything I lost, and there's only one way to make me happy now."

With that, Cassandra started to advance on him, letting the hatred and menace in her eyes seep out into the air surrounding them. It must have found its way to him, as Leitner let out a cry and backed into his desk. He raised a pen in his right hand poised to strike, but the fear had made his timing off. Cassandra easily grabbed his wrist and slammed it hard into the edge of the desk. The pen rolled out of his hand as he cried out.

"There's a lot of delicate little bones in your wrist," Cassandra said through clenched teeth as she wrestled to control his other hand. Her knee swooped up to hit him squarely between the legs. "But I'm sure you know that. I wonder if we broke any. Better try again just to be sure."

With that, Cassandra twisted the same wrist behind him in jerking motion that surely broke something. "Yep, that definitely broke something," she said as she forced him to kneel down in front of her. Grabbing a few cable ties from her back pocket, she quickly secured his hands behind him and let go. As he made to get up, she walked around to the front of him, pulling out her karambit as she went.

"Ah, ah, not so fast," Cassandra said as she waved the knife in front of his eyes.

"This is a college. Someone will hear, see what you are doing to me," Leitner started.

"Wait," Cassandra cut him off once again. She mocked him, turning her ear to the door and listening to the silence. "Do you hear that? That's the sound of no one hearing. No one coming to your rescue…all the same, we'll have to make it quick then. Tell me everything you know about Project New Life, and we'll call it quits."

"I understand," he started once again. She started to shake her knife at him, but to her surprise he grew bolder, more insistent instead of shutting up. "The things we did, we'll burn in Hell for. But I need to say this." He looked up at her with pleading eyes that still held a sense of rigidity. He was not as spineless as Roswell, but he would speak to her all the same.

"I was young once, like you. I remember being your age. I stood before the world, and thought that I could change it. I was intelligent, and all I needed was the power. Arrogance. All the same, I had my mission: I would change the world, for the better..or so I believed. I went to a college," at that he paused, glancing around the room, "much better than this one. I got top marks, made waves in my field. I was going to do great things."

"I remember when they approached me," he said as quietly as whisper. It sounded as loud as a gunshot, echoing off the walls of the lecture hall. "They promised me the power I needed, to change things. At the time, they never gave the whole picture. Remember that, they never give the whole picture," he repeated, staring into her eyes. It was the only time he made eye contact, as he drifted off to staring at a wall again.

"They came flashing grant money and fancy lab equipment, with big ideas to change things. It was flattering, to be picked. I jumped through every damned hoop they gave me, like a dog begging for a God damned treat," his words began to hold an edge to them. "When I made it in, the work started getting more and more complex. The lines started to blur more and more. And every decision I chose became harder and harder to answer. I set out to do good, real good, for this world, and before I could define where I went wrong I was the bad guy."

"There was a girl," he paused, closing his eyes. "Long before you, long before I started on that project. Her name was Charlene. She was one of the first patients I ever interacted with. Mind you, in molecular biology, I don't interact with patients very often. She couldn't have been older than twelve. She had been diagnosed with an aggressive form of cancer, back when any cancer was still a death sentence, more or less. Her parents were desperate; they leaped at the chance we offered to save her."

"The treatments, they were awful," he shuddered. "I was walking past the door to her room and heard her screams. That was when I looked in and saw her for the first time. Hooked up to machines, given experimental treatments. In hindsight, they're probably what made it worse. That was the first time I ever questioned myself."

"But you kept going," Cassandra replied, feeling her eyes glisten with angry tears she refused to let fall. "You kept working for them, for years."

He let out a bitter laugh. "To leave them was to sign a death sentence. I suppose I could have taken matters into my own hands and ended my life myself. I'm fully aware of the things I've done. By the time your project came around, I knew. By that time, my soul was numb. When SHIELD finally fell, and HYDRA with it, that was the only thing that could have woken me up, given me a new life."

"Congrats," Cassandra said, the edge to her voice ever present. "You sold your soul, did awful things, and you got a new life. I didn't. I didn't come here today to talk about repentance or sing 'Kumbaya' or whatever the hell else you're interested in. I need to know about Project New Life."

Leitner exhaled through his nose slowly. "I never knew all of the pieces to it; that was how I preferred it. I can tell you that I was in charge of splicing your cells down to a microscopic level, concentrating your DNA enough for Kovac to decipher. He was the only one I ever worked with closely. My work was strictly in the lab, behind a microscope."

"But you had to know more," Cassandra pressed, pointing the knife at him accusingly. "You had to know who else was on the project, who was in charge, who kept the files. There has to be something you know."

"I know a few other names. Ceban, she was a biochemist that worked with the patients. And Sokolov, well, he was the lead. As far as I know. He was the one organizing things. I'm sure you saw the two of them at some point," he said. "Tell me, will you get revenge on them? On all of us?"

"It's about more than just revenge," Cassandra said tonelessly.

"Then what," he asked.

Cassandra poised herself to answer when she paused. There was a pressure, something pushing on the center of her forehead. She felt the need to get down and ducked behind the sturdy looking mahogany desk. A spray of bullets poured into the room, shattering the wall of glass that used to stretch across the right side of the room. She cursed to herself and pulled a gun out of the back of her jeans. How had League managed to find her again?

Before she could second guess herself, Cassandra whipped up from behind the desk and fired a few shots, dodging across to a less battered file cabinet. It was at least solid metal, and big enough for her to hide behind. Still, she was not well armed and would be pinned down until League got close enough to kill her. Maybe if she played things right she could get in a lucky shot. Or die trying, which was likelier.

She heard the heavy steps of boots crunching down on broken glass and prepared to whip around and aim. Taking a deep breath, she prepared for the worst. By the sound of the steps, if he got any closer he'd be right on top of her. _Now or never_ , she thought to herself, listening to his approach carefully to determine roughly where he was.

This was her own version of a Wild West shootout, and Cassandra would be damned if she was killed cowering behind furniture. Dodging out to her left, she quickly aimed and fired at the figure moving toward her. What she wasn't prepared for was the bright glint reflecting off of metal as it swept into the room and knocked her would be target off their feet. Her shot soared past where he stood as League went barreling into the whiteboard ten feet from her. Little pieces of it broke off and blasted through the air at the force of impact.

The familiar red, white, and blue shield skidded to a stop at the bottom of the steps after making its impact. It was there barely a second before Captain America himself stooped down to pick it up, barely missing a shot by League before he raised the shield to cover himself. A man with robotic wings (Cassandra thought absentmindedly to herself that the media called him Falcon?) swept in from the giant hole that used to be windows and returned fire at League.

Now, this might have been Cassandra's first time setting foot inside a college, but she wasn't stupid by any means. She saw an opening and she took it. Firing the rest of her round at League over her shoulder, she quickly made her way to the side door and barreled through it. In the hallway, the gunshots echoed behind her while students screamed and ran chaotically through the halls in a desperate attempt to get away.

Debating whether or not to attempt to blend in with the students around her, she decided to make a run for it. It was impossible to make heads or tails of this mess of a hallway anyway. Cassandra skidded down the hall, taking random turns through the building to avoid the crowds around the stairwell as other students ran to escape. Seeing an emergency exit sign ahead of her, she put everything she had into reaching it quickly. Somewhere in the hallway a fire alarm was sounding off, but she didn't care as the door pushed open to reveal sunshine outside.

Taking the stairs two or three at a time, she flew down from the third story on the rickety metal steps beneath her. Unfortunately, her feet weren't on solid ground long before she saw a winged figure drop down in front of her and block the sidewalk. A crowd of students still rushed past, but seemed to leave a wide berth between the two of them instinctively.

"Hey, we haven't met yet," the guy said. "They call me Falcon."

"Pleasure to meet you," Cassandra said as she glanced around her. They still weren't far from the building, and it looked like there was a small set of concrete steps descending down into the side of the building. If she could get into the basement, she might be able to lose him. It was too open outside to hide from eyes up in the sky.

"I never caught your name," Falcon said, catching her wandering eyes.

"No, you didn't," Cassandra agreed.

"That guy back there, you don't seem to get along that well. We could help you, you know," he replied. "All you'd have to do is stop blowing stuff up."

"Oooh, that's a deal breaker," Cassandra replied. As luck would have it, something managed to explode behind them at that moment, and she took the opportunity to dart into the basement. The door was small, and the seconds it took Falcon to disengage his wings took up precious time. By the time he went in after her, Cassandra had already weaved through the hallways and negotiated her way through a boiler room.

The boiler room led directly out to a small parking lot on the far side of their fight. She ducked in and out of the cars, looking for an easy target. As Cassandra hotwired an old Camry and pulled out of the parking lot, she could just see the door from the boiler room banging open, but it was impossible to tell from the distance who it was. Either way, she stepped on the accelerator until it touched metal.

It seemed like the only thing she was good at lately was running away.


	9. Chapter 9: It's Wabbit Season

Chapter Nine: It's Wabbit Season

Cassandra had mixed feelings about what happened at the college. Sure, Leitner gave her a few names. It was a start. However, her success was marred by the arrival of League, once again. Begrudgingly, she acknowledged that the arrival of the Avengers probably saved her from near death. Not that she would admit that to anyone. She wondered idly how much they knew. It couldn't be that much, judging on her conversation with Falcon.

She didn't have anything against them, per se, but she wasn't jumping at the chance to talk to them. Things were a giant mess already. Besides, once they stepped in they would take over the situation and she wouldn't be able to do anything, and things _needed_ to burn. Cassandra couldn't trust anyone else to take care of this.

Speaking of things that needed to burn, Cassandra turned her thoughts to Project New Life. _Roswell, dead. Leitner, dead. Kovac, Ceban, Sokolov._ Finally, League. She hadn't given much thought to him, besides what she had figured out on the Darknet about him. Theoretically, someone had to have hired him. She was willing to bet that whoever had was also responsible for keeping the project active. Clearly he was supposed to kill her. More interestingly though, he didn't care about killing Roswell or Leitner. So, were they a target of his too? Or were they considered loose ends to the project? She suspected the latter, since their deaths only occurred once they met her. They weren't a major goal apparently.

So, someone who knew about the project wanted her dead, not really a surprise there. Whoever it was, they had to be high up. Cassandra wondered how much League knew about his mission. He had to have at least some of the answers, enough to make decisions in the field, like killing Roswell or Leitner. Theoretically, if she could break League, she could skip over the guessing games and go straight to the source of the issue.

Of course, that would mean keeping him alive long enough to get answers, which wasn't a very comforting thought. People tend to shoot you less when they're a dead body. She'd keep him alive just long enough to get her answers. After that, hell could have him.

As Cassandra worked through various options and plans, she always hit the same snag. If she wanted to catch him, she would need to lead him into a trap, but she had no clue how to guarantee he would be where she wanted him. There had to be a way to get his attention. How had he been tracking her down before?

Absentmindedly, Cassandra rolled a beer bottle by the neck between her hands and stared out the window. Looking down, she cursed her own stupidity. That was exactly what it took for League to find her: stupidity. Grinning like a cat that ate the canary, Cassandra set out to make a plan so foolproof that League would shoot his own damn self.

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"Give me all you got," Steve said between punches. He was practicing in the gym on his fourth punching bag in a week. At the rate he was going, it looked like he was going to break that one too.

"We put together a pretty solid lead on the girl. She looks a little different, but matches a missing person's case from a few years back," Sam pulled a file up on his tablet for Steve to see. The girl in the picture was younger by quite a few years, her hair was shorter and lacking a reddish tinge, but overall it wasn't hard to see the resemblance. "The girl in the picture is named Cassandra Campbell. Went by Cassie. About six years back her family got into a car accident, sunk to the bottom of a river. They recovered her parents, but her body was never found. Think HYDRA had something to do with it?"

Steve stared at the picture. "In my experience, people go missing and wind up having ties to HYDRA, it wasn't by accident."

"She doesn't seem to have a lot of love for them now, anyway. The other hostile," Sam said as he flicked the screen and pulled up a different file, "is known on the streets as League. Some Serbian assassin. No known ties to HYDRA, but it wouldn't shock me."

"Know anything else about him," Steve asked.

"Only that he's bulletproof," Natasha said from a corner of the gym. Sam jumped a fraction, not aware that she was there at all.

"How does a woman in three inch heels keep so quiet," Sam asked. Natasha simply smiled and walked towards the pair.

"Bulletproof," Steve asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Word has been pretty quiet about it, but if you listen to the right people," Natasha trailed off. "He was in the UAE a few months ago, caught the wrong assignment. Police shot him clean through the chest, watched him drop off a building two hundred feet into the gulf."

"Hell of a party trick," Sam said with a low whistle.

"So we've got a twenty four year old girl with unknown powers and a Serbian assassin who should be dead. Anything else," Steve asked.

"Yeah," Natasha replied, "looks like they're hell bent on killing each other."

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Cassandra stumbled up to the bar on unsteady heels. She probably shouldn't have worn three inch heels, but what the hell. A girl has to celebrate sometimes. There were several empty glasses at her table off to the side of the bar already piling up, and she had only been there an hour.

"I'll take the strongest Jack and Coke you got," she yelled at the bartender over the music with a wink.

"Another double shot of whiskey coming up," the bartender said, not amused at hearing the same joke the third time in a row. "Think you can handle another?"

"Who cares," Cassandra yelled louder than necessary. "I'm celebrating!"

"Not much of a celebration if you're by yourself," commented a man sitting at the bar. He had been watching her for the last hour with a raised eyebrow.

"That's the point," she slurred at him and stumbled closer. "I've figured out how to fix the problem." Cassandra giggled to herself as the bartender slammed another shot onto the counter in front of her. She downed it in two seconds flat and set the glass down upside down. "Another!"

"Drink some water," the bartender said as he sat a bottle in front of her.

"Well that's not very fun," Cassandra pouted.

The man next to her sighed before turning to the bartender. "Two shots." The bartender just shook his head and grabbed the almost empty bottle back off the shelf.

"So what problem have you solved," the man next to her asked.

Cassandra drunkenly put a finger over her lips. "It's a secret," she stage whispered. "And I don't even know your name."

"Greg. And you are," he asked.

"Cassandra," she replied with a grin.

"Now we're not strangers anymore," he pointed out.

"Think you can keep a secret then," she asked. He nodded, so she leaned in closer to whisper. "I'm getting revenge."

"Revenge," Greg asked. He leaned away a bit, probably because she was grinning like the Cheshire cat. "For what?" By this time their shots were ready, and Cassandra downed hers as quickly as the rest. When they made eye contact, she wasn't smiling anymore.

"They ruined my life," Cassandra stared off into a corner of the bar. Absentmindedly she pulled at the sleeve of her shirt, making it rise several inches and allowing clear view of the scars still outlined on her skin. "They took everything from me: my family, my humanity. And now I've figured out how to make them pay, I've got plans for all of them. Two of them are already gone."

Greg slowly backed away from her, eyes on her arm. By this point the bartender had noticed the change in tone as the air felt icier; a nervous edge took over the room.

"Are you saying you killed two people," Greg asked her slowly.

Cassandra laughed, "I didn't have to. The assassin trying to kill me missed. The next one though, Kovac, he's mine."

"Lady," the bartender said, "you're either drunk or crazy. I think it's time for you to leave."  
"Why can't I be both," Cassandra grinned. She felt their fear and nerves rolling of them in waves and amplified it before sending it back. The force of the emotion hitting them physically knocked Greg back a step.

"You're one of them, aren't you," Greg asked horrified. "One of those freaks."

Cassandra didn't reply. Instead she grabbed his untouched shot and poured it across the bar before pulling out a lighter from her back pocket. Before they could stop her, she tossed it onto the flames where it spread and caught another drink on fire.

The bartender shouted and rushed to get water, but no one moved to confront her; they were all too caught up in fear. "Why are you doing this," Greg asked.

"Because some things need to burn," Cassandra responded before walking out of the bar on steady feet.

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She felt bad for her performance, but nothing would be permanently damaged…although therapy might be in order. More importantly, her plan would be successful. League would have to be an idiot to miss that trail of breadcrumbs. As soon as he showed up she would follow him to the next target and take him out to boot. Acting drunk at a bar had never paid off more.

It didn't take long for League to show up. Cassandra waited on a rooftop down the street, curious to see his method and half afraid he would burn down the whole town. Shockingly, he sat outside the bar for about ten minutes before taking off, and she was quick to follow.

The hardest part of tailing another car is getting the timing just right without getting caught. The farther away the target is, the easier it is to hide. However, one sudden turn and they're gone forever. A good rule of thumb is one lane over and two cars back, if it can be helped. Changing lanes and passing are good options too, but not ones Cassandra could risk. The two hour drive on the interstate was spent four cars back, far enough away to escape notice. She'd have to risk losing him and finding him later.

Unlike most of her other borrowed cars, the Nissan Rouge she was driving was relatively new and handled a lot better. Cassandra found it in an airport parking lot between security rounds, so who knows when they'd figure out it was missing. Fortunately for the driver, she didn't need it long. Unfortunately for her, the stereo system was shot and it was either a two hour trip in silence or the best hits of Anne Murray. It was a long ride.

Cassandra almost missed when League took his exit, but managed to swerve into the correct lane and make the exit in time. This is when things got more dangerous; there was no buffer car between them. If he decided to look in his rear view, she was done. Easing back, she let him pull ahead at the stop light while it turned yellow. There were several in the area, it would be easy to catch up if she played it right and kept her eyes open.

Weaving in and out of traffic, she managed to follow him as he wove through the metropolitan area of Bridgeport, Connecticut. His first stop seemed to be a hotel, where she assumed he would be staying. Cassandra parked outside for over an hour before leaving, making sure he stayed put. The last thing she needed was to lose him.

Satisfied, Cassandra went a few blocks down and got her own hotel room. She wanted the chances of him accidentally seeing her set to a minimum. As she unpacked her things, her mind got to work. There were only a few options as to why League came here after getting a lead on her. The first option was that he came to see whoever hired him, but that was unlikely. League didn't seem like the "report as you go" type, especially in person.

That left option two, and the one Cassandra favored. She had kicked the hornets' nest, and it paid off. League heard she was after Kovac and he came to set up a trap for her. Oh, this was going to be fun. She supposed there were other options, but she felt this one in her soul. Kovac was somewhere here in Bridgeport.

While that was good news, it was also bad. Cassandra now had to determine what the best course of action was: go after League first and risk spooking Kovac or not finding him, or secure Kovac first and risk League interrupting. After tossing around several ideas, she picked one that was riskier but paid off more.

Twenty minutes later Cassandra found herself under a car. Not the Nissan she stole, but an Audi Coupe. It was the car League drove in with, and she hoped he would continue using it for the next while. Normally, bugging a car was a bad move against someone like League. Her only hope was that he wouldn't sweep for bugs as carefully as he should. The bug itself was about the size of her pinky nail, a pinging device. Unlike most bugs, it would only transmit a signal once every ten minutes for a fraction of a second, not enough time for it to show up on a scanner.

Cassandra set the device to transmit to a burner phone and smiled at the thought of League babysitting himself until it was convenient to her. The game was simple: figure out what places he went to more frequently, and narrow it down until she found Kovac. That left her plenty of time to move on to more fun projects.

Bridgeport, clearly, got its start from its shipping industry and grew in size to a sprawling metropolitan. While the heart of the city was no longer its docks, there were still plenty of shipyards littering the coastline. Further inland were giant warehouses used for storage. A lot of businesses in the area took a toll with the bad economy, which meant quite a few warehouses stood empty, ready for Cassandra to use.

One in particular caught Cassandra's eye. It was further away from the busy parts of the city and surrounded on three sides by other warehouses. Meaning it was least likely to draw attention. The outside was no different than the ones around it, a grey drab building with a few cracks running through the cement. An old lock hanging off the door was easily picked and she was inside. Natural light didn't exist in the dark interior; Cassandra fumbled around in her pocket for her cell phone.

Shining the light into the middle of the room, Cassandra jumped backwards. A life-size, gruesome looking zombie mannequin stood two feet from her with fake blood still oozing out of its unhinged jaw. Next to it were similar ghouls, and fake spider webs covered every surface. Feeling next to the door frame, Cassandra found a light switch and flicked it on.

She appeared to be standing in one of the largest haunted houses she had ever seen. A labyrinth of twists and turns was laid out across the warehouse floor with grotesque decorations as far as the eye could see. As Cassandra navigated her way around a creepy morgue set up, a slow smile formed on her face. This place would do nicely.

The key was to disorient League, and the maze was perfect. Sharp turns meant there were no good angles to shoot from, and several options in the road meant he would have to pick his way through. The mannequins would make it harder to figure out where a real person would be, but the best part was where all the pathways converged.

At the center of the warehouse, a circular hall of mirrors was set up like a bad fun house with an animatronics clown at the center. It was motion activated, which surprised Cassandra herself. She almost shot the damn thing. As she moved around it, the whole hall began to spin and she almost fell. Disoriented, she realized the room was set up on top of a platform that spun around. With a few modifications, she could make this place perfect. The first step was to cut the power so he couldn't turn on the lights. After that, all she would need is a way to get through the maze without League being able to see her. Any light source would give her away.

Cassandra's phone beeped loudly in her hand and broke her train of thought. The ping device was activated. The next couple of hours were spent at a hardware store picking up supplies, and then back at the warehouse making a few renovations. The glow paint found at the hardware store was disappointing, and would be easily seen by League regardless. However, taking normal paint and mixing it with a few store bought chemicals was another story entirely. Using a pair of specialty glasses made out of cheap reading glasses and a blue dye, Cassandra would be able to see the paint glow in complete darkness.

The other renovation was a little harder, but ultimately more satisfying. Using mainly plywood, Cassandra created a ceiling for the spinning room. She wasn't exactly a carpenter, so when it slumped down she had to put a support beam in the center. It ruined a lot of the mirroring effect, but couldn't be helped. She rolled fiber glass insulation over the top before injecting it with polyurethane construction foam. It at least made it strong enough to withstand a bit of pressure. A small trap door, no wider than four inches, was in the north corner of the ceiling. Finally, she hid the smallest camera she could find in a knot in the support beam.

To be honest, it looked like it would hold League for all of fifteen minutes, but that's really all she needed. She'd make him talk, and then get rid of him. With her special abilities it would be all too easy. Cassandra only needed some bait, and since he would have used Kovac, she figured it would be poetic to do the same.

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Cassandra parked outside a small office front, waiting for the mail to arrive. The first place League came to after his hotel was this building. The sign outside read Kowal & Magnusson, Genetic Consultants. The website online had stated they were a geneticists lab that isolated traits in embryos. Basically, it was Build-A-Baby for rich people.

Her trap for Kovac was simple, but the most effective she could think of. Cassandra wrote a letter to Kovac under the guise of being Ceban, warning him that someone was picking off the members behind Project New Life. She also threw in that it was rumored he kept his notes, since he was in the business of genetically altering babies, and that she would arrange for a meeting with a liaison at the warehouse for him at a given time.

The real genius was using an old HYDRA encryption code. Easy to decipher, but the point was that it made it look more genuine. While Cassandra went through those dusty files, she noticed a common letterhead and formatted one close enough in resemblance. At the very least, it should pique his interest enough to show up. Once he did she'd dart him, take care of League, and then throw Kovac in the trunk and haul ass out of there.

Cassandra twirled the letter around in her hands. It was sealed, stamped, and had the official stamp of the US postal service, which she may have illegally obtained earlier. Right on time, a white mail truck pulled up to the side of the entrance. She hastily pulled her hoodie over her head and got out of the car.

In yoga pants and a ratty old hoodie, she looked like any other twenty something jogging around on a cold day. Popping in some ear buds, she stuffed the letter in her pocket and snuck out from behind her car, jogging right into the mail carrier at full speed. As predicted, a mass of envelopes dropped from his hands and scattered across the ground.

"Oh hell, I'm so sorry," she said as she pulled an ear bud out and stooped to help pick up the envelopes. He was too focused picking up mail to notice her slip the envelope out of her pocket and into the rest of the mess. "I wasn't watching-"

"Just don't touch," the guy snapped at her, swiping the envelopes out of her hand. "This is federal property until it reaches its destination, you can't just tamper with mail!"

Shrugging, Cassandra circled the block and jogged back to her car. She was so proud of herself, she stopped at the first grocery store she passed, and bought something other than booze. Well, there was still a twelve pack and a handle of whiskey, but there were chips and dip too. That counted for something.

The guy behind the counter looked at her as she set her stuff on the counter. "Either you're going to a party, or that's a hell of a night in store."

"It's a bit of both," Cassandra responded with a grin. Tonight, she would celebrate imminent victory. Tomorrow, she'd drown the devil.


	10. Interrogations are Just Interviews

Chapter Ten: Interrogations are Just Interviews at Gunpoint

Cassandra stared out at her trap from the office set twenty feet up from the warehouse floor. It was probably where an overseer was supposed to sit and make sure the peons down below did what they were supposed to. It made the perfect spot to sit and watch. Sadly, she wouldn't be able to get this nice of a vantage point for long. Someone had to lure League through the maze, and it sure as hell wasn't going to be Kovac.

Everything was laid out nicely, and Cassandra was fairly confident she knew how things would go down. Kovac would enter first and she'd take him out from the balcony office with a tranquilizer. From there, she would have about ninety seconds to climb down on a rope and secure him before League entered. From there she'd hit the main lights and enter the maze.

Using her last couple of minutes and some nervous energy, Cassandra did one last run through the maze with the main lights off. Once League entered, she'd cut the main lights and there would just be the intermittent, dark lighting of the decorations inside the maze. It wasn't really enough to see by, but she wouldn't need it. The paint was working beautifully with her glasses.

Satisfied with herself, Cassandra resumed her position. It was only about three minutes now. Three minutes until she took out League, three minutes until she had her answers. Three minutes until she got the last pieces to the shittiest puzzle she had ever seen. A Chevy Malibu was ready outside with a full tank of gas and enough trunk space to fit two if necessary. Everything she needed was piled in the front seat.

Her fingers twitched nervously over the trigger as she counted down the seconds on the clock. Taking a deep breath, she heard a car pull up out front. Kovac. It felt like an eternity as she listened for the telltale sign of crunching gravel getting closer and closer to the door. She cursed him all over again for taking this long. The door slowly squeaked open, and in Kovac stepped. He was much taller in person than Cassandra accounted for.

Taking a deep, unsteady breath, Cassandra aimed and fired. The dart sailed through the air sure and true, until Kovac turned his head. It barely grazed his neck, which seemed to still do the trick. Within seconds he was on the ground. Cassandra hurried over to the rope and swung herself down. Feet firmly on the ground, she quickly found out why Kovac got distracted. Another car had pulled up next to Kovac's. The lights were off, but she could see the faint glow of the dashboard outlining a driver. League was early.

 _Fucking hell_ , Cassandra cursed in her head. Leave it to League to screw her over at every possible turn. She made a mad dash for the lights and hit them just as League threw open the door. She figured he had just enough time to make out her flipping him off before she hit them. It wasn't quite pitch black, but it would be difficult. Slipping the glasses on, she followed her trail as fast as she dared towards the maze.

League's footsteps were right behind her. Picking up speed, Cassandra barreled through the entrance to the maze and took the first couple of turns. Thankfully, it was designed to twist and turn around a lot in the beginning which ensured she could get a good head start. She didn't want to stop and check, but it sounded like he fell back quite a bit. Grinning, she kept her pace up until she reached the cage.

Cassandra pushed aside a fake wall and swung around the side of the room. Her timing here was critical. If League could see her on top it was game over. It seemed like the dark wasn't slowing him down anymore; he ran into the room at almost full force. Seeing her chance, Cassandra jumped onto the top and kicked the bolt loose, sending the door crashing down and locking into place. Taking her time to walk across the roof and to the back, she reveled in the sound of muffled gunshots from beneath her. Since she wasn't riddled with bullets, her reinforced walls seemed to have worked.

Jumping down, she flipped the switch for inside the room. An old computer monitor showed a live feed inside the box. The monitor screen was muted down, but Cassandra knew how bright it was inside that room, particularly with the mirrors reflecting every trace of light. She leaned down and flicked the switch on her microphone.

"Hi, I think we've met before," Cassandra said. She was sure her tone gave away the shit eating grin she was wearing. "Now, you know who I am, but never bothered to introduce yourself. That's just rude."

She could see League on the monitor, pacing back and forth through the room like a tiger in captivity. If he heard her, he ignored it. "Oh, I wouldn't worry about trying to get out. You won't be in there long anyway. I just wanted to have a nice chat. So let's talk."

"I'm really going to enjoy killing you," League responded. His voice was every bit as gravelly and deep as she thought it would be. If he was on the other end of the line, she had no doubt Liam Neeson would hang up the phone.

"I would say likewise, but since I'm not a psychotic serial killer- no, wait, I'm gonna enjoy it," Cassandra replied. "So let's play a game, sort of like a word association game. It's okay if you don't wanna play, you will anyway."

"Ceban," Cassandra said in a flat tone. League paused, but that was it. The name was familiar to him obviously, but it didn't mean much. "Sokolov."

At that, League threw his head back and laughed. His dark hood moved a fraction of an inch, exposing a bad case of 5 o clock shadow. "You think you have it all figured out, don't you girlie? Read too many Nancy Drew books as a child?"

"I preferred Scooby Doo. A little kitschy, but in the end the monsters were always some sad old guy who had nothing better to do than chase around some teens. Ringing a bell," Cassandra asked sarcastically.

"I'll hand it to you, you've got a lot of spunk left for someone who's been to hell and back. I can't wait to watch the light die in your eyes," he said.

"Yeah, back to Sokolov. He's your sugar daddy, right? Let me make one thing clear," Cassandra said in a deadly tone when it looked like he would cut her off. "You're nothing more than a glorified security guard working for a man past his prime."

"Oh, I'm so much more. Trust me," he threatened.

"You ever lived out in the country," Cassandra asked, her tone suddenly much lighter. "The best part was walking through the fields. I used to hop the neighbor's fences and walk around in their fields with the horses and cows. Of course, you can't help stepping in shit. You wipe off your shoes, but you can't get rid of it all. That's what Sokolov is. The shit at the bottom of the shoe."

"If that's the case, you're not getting rid of him," League sneered.

"I'll burn the whole God damned shoe," Cassandra whispered loud enough for him to hear through the microphone. It was time for them to wrap things up and say goodbye. Cassandra gathered up any last traces that she was there and grabbed a pistol from the table; League must have sensed something by how quiet it had gotten. She could hear him pounding against the walls.

Smiling, Cassandra was about to taunt him when a loud bang echoed through the warehouse. Her heart froze, thinking League actually managed to escape. Unfortunately, she saw a figure swooping around overhead on mechanical wings. Cursing, she ducked behind a wall of the maze to try to buy a few more seconds.

Her luck had apparently run out. Cassandra had waited too long before shooting League and he managed to kick one of the panels out. If she had to pinpoint a time when all hell broke loose, it would probably be the next few seconds. She lined up her shot and had her finger on the trigger before League could defend himself. In the split second it took her to squeeze the trigger down somebody hit the overhead lights. Blinded, the shot went wide.

Cassandra screamed in rage and ran after League while trying to get another shot. Rather than retrace their steps, he ran into the back half of the maze and snaked his way around the corners. She had only been this way a few times, meaning she lost her advantage. Voices and footsteps echoed around the warehouse like thunder. She could tell the other Avengers were in the building as well. How far behind, she didn't know.

She was so focused on the voices behind her that she failed to notice they were out of the maze until she saw League bolt for the back door. Cursing, she aimed once again and the bullet whizzed past his head as he lunged through the door and into the night. Falcon dropped in front of the door within four feet of her, effectively blocking her route.

"Sorry to interrupt," he said to her before speaking into his earpiece. "I've got the girl. League took off from the south east exit. Circle around and try to track him. He's on foot."

"You've got to let me get him," Cassandra said while looking over his shoulder.

"How about your name instead," Falcon said in a 'no bullshit' kind of way. She couldn't make out his exact gear, but it looked like his wings had built in guns…aimed at her.

"Look, he's an assassin working for HYDRA, I don't have time for this. If he's gone, he's in the wind," she said urgently.

"We're working on it," Falcon said. "But as far as people I don't trust, you're one of them. Shooting people, blowing things up, causing mayhem. What makes you different from him?"

"Technically he killed the first two people on my list, so he's probably worse," Cassandra replied.

Falcon raised his eyebrows. "You got a list?"

"Probably not the best thing to start the conversation with," Cassandra said.

"You think," Falcon asked.

His radio beeped twice before a feminine voice came through the comms system. "The building's cleared. No one besides us."

Something within that statement clicked in Cassandra's mind. "Shit!"

"Expecting the pizza guy to stick around," Falcon asked, but she had already blocked his voice out. Ignoring him and every basic instinct, she closed her eyes and tried to focus on Kovac. She should have hit him with another dart while she had a chance. Eyes moving rapidly behind her closed lids, it took her barely three seconds to see him running along the docks a block and a half away.

Moving quickly before she could regret her decisions, she felt for the emotions swirling around Falcon. Cassandra had only done this a handful of times and was unsure about the outcome, but she grabbed onto the emotions and tugged firmly. It was sort of like pulling a rug out from underneath someone, it pulled all their energy out and hopefully knocked them unconscious. Opening her eyes, she watched as Falcon started to wobble and was out the door before he hit the ground.

Cassandra knew what she was doing was stupid, but at the same time there wasn't much else she could do. If Kovac disappeared, that was it. He'd be gone in the wind and she was positive there would be no getting him back. She pushed every other thought aside and focused on weaving in and out of the shadows of different warehouses, trying to get closer to the water.

A boat sounded in the distance and she followed it, grateful to have a better sense of direction. Skidding to a stop in front of a long stretch of docks, Cassandra debated internally which way to go. She shut her eyes to search, but the sound of footsteps echoing behind her cut her train of thought off. Winging it, she turned left and sped along the old wooden boards lining the docks.

Cassandra could still hear footsteps behind her and she had no doubt they would catch up soon. A super soldier, government assassin, or genetic experiment surely had better cardio than someone who only used their gym card to break into locked doors. Not to mention bird boy. She was so close, so intent on looking ahead of her for Kovac's tall figure running out to a boat that she completely missed what was in front of her. Suddenly she was falling to the ground, tripping over something. Cassandra managed to roll in a very undignified manner into a sitting position.

She had assumed the Avengers were the reason she tripped, but they still appeared to be a couple hundred feet away. Cassandra put her hands out to heave herself up when she realized she stuck them right into a pool of something warm. Blood. Looking over for the first time at what she tripped on, she stared into the glassy, dead eyes of Kovac.

"God damn it," she muttered to herself, looking around for somewhere to wipe her hands off. Rubbing her hands all over some dead guy seemed disgusting, but so did wiping it off on her pants. They were getting even closer, and she half smirked at literally being caught red handed. She settled for wiping her hands on the docks, getting at least some of the blood off.

"He was like that when I got here," Cassandra said with her hands in the air as bird boy himself landed in front of her. Captain America wasn't far behind, and neither was the red head.

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The next couple of hours were spent in the back of an armored van with her hands cuffed together in some high tech contraption. Whatever it was made of, the handcuffs managed to block her powers. Cassandra's head felt blurry from trying to make sense of it, which resulted in a massive headache. She compensated by closing her eyes and blocking everything out, trying desperately to sleep.

It seemed like ages before the van stopped. The doors slid open and two men wearing bland camouflage uniforms escorted her out. The Avengers were nowhere in sight, and they were definitely not at the Avengers tower in New York City. This looked more like a high tech military base.

"Did you two miss the casting call for G.I. Joe, or is this it," Cassandra asked. She wasn't doing herself any favors, but she had been bored in the back of the van. One of them turned to glare at her, but otherwise they continued walking her along the cement path into the building, one on either side of her.

The inside of the building was brightly lit from all the windows, and very bare. The only decorative touch was the large "A" symbol on the opposite wall. "Oooh, super secret base. A little upset it's not under the ocean, but this could work." Suddenly, her vision was swept over, replaced by an image of a base under water, but this one looked more like a prison full of cells. It didn't last more than a second or two before it was gone.

Cassandra shook her head, wondering what the hell that was. It must have been a vision, so she supposed that while the handcuffs kept her from using her empathy or actively seeking out visions, she might still be able to receive some. Still, she had no clue what that vision meant. A glimpse of her future, maybe? It wasn't particularly optimistic if it was.

While debating internally over the vision, Cassandra realized she must have been dragged down several hallways and into an elevator. The buttons on the wall lit up with each level they passed, and she realized they must be going several stories underground. The last button lit up as the doors slid open, and the men guided her out along a darkly lit hall to a door near the end.

The room inside was simple: concrete floor and walls, concrete table with a metal ring and chain attached to it, two chairs, and very poor lighting. One of the walls was a long mirror, meaning a two way mirror for people in another room to view her. She watched enough Law and Order to know that much. They sat her down in one of the chairs, attached her handcuffs to the ring, and made their way out.

"You guys should really think about hiring Martha Stewart to redecorate in here. She's been doing a lot of good since she got out of prison, I think she'd help," she called before the door swung shut. The chain was just long enough to reach her hands to her face without stooping over awkwardly. Cassandra propped her head in her hands and waited.

With no concept of time down here, Cassandra started counting the seconds to get a decent measure. Each minute that ticked by made her realize they were waiting her out and she imagined someone behind the glass, watching her. At first she was content to wait with them but soon boredom kicked in. She was so used to constant movement that sitting in silence and semi darkness was getting to her more than she liked to admit.

"I'm at least 85% sure someone is behind that glass watching me right now, and unless you also get great cable reception down here, you're getting just as bored as I am. At least come in here so we can have some witty banter," she said while watching the two way mirror. Seconds ticked by into minutes without response. "Okay, now I'm 60% percent sure."

A minute later the door to her room opened and the red head walked inside. Not her ideal pick for witty banter, but she wasn't being too picky right then. The red head went past her and sat in the opposite chair, tossing a file of papers onto the table in front of her.

"Nice to meet you in person, Cassandra," she said. "Sorry I haven't kept you entertained; I've been busy reading up on you."

"It's always wonderful to meet my adoring fans," Cassandra replied, not overly surprised they found her name. "Sorry, but I can't remember your name. They don't sell a lot of merchandise with you on it."

"Natasha," she replied with a neutral expression.

"Oooh, first name basis. How exciting," Cassandra said.

"We could go by nicknames, Cassie," Natasha responded with a raised eyebrow, gauging her reaction.

Cassandra's expression darkened. "Don't call me that."

The two locked eyes for a second before Natasha gestured to the file in front of her. "Go ahead, look through. I'm sure you're curious."

Hesitantly Cassandra reached out for the file. It looked like they had a meticulous record of her life before...well, before. Everything from her birth record to school pictures to printed out screen shots of her old facebook account were in there. Towards the back were police records, newspaper clippings, and security camera stills of various crimes, including the bombing at the lab.

She flipped through the last part quickly, taking in the damage and death before flipping the file closed and pushing it away. Cassandra stared at the tabletop, wishing she had the ability to school her face as well as Natasha.

"Not proud of your work," Natasha asked.

"I asked for witty banter," Cassandra replied.

A sudden knock on the door interrupted further conversation. The door slid open and Falcon walked in. "Cap needs you upstairs, Nat. I'll take over."

Natasha stood up and gestured to her chair before leaving the room and locking the door shut. Falcon walked over slowly before flipping the chair around and taking a seat. Instead of saying anything, the room was filled with a long, awkward silence.

"Whoops," Cassandra started off. Her tone wasn't exactly remorseful as she kept from making direct eye contact.

"Oh really, that's what you gotta say? 'Whoops'," Falcon asked.

"Sorry," Cassandra ventured, but it came out sounding more like a question.

Falcon shifted in his seat with his arms crossed. "You want to apologize, start talking."

"I've got nothing to say, Bird Boy" Cassandra replied while shaking her head.

"Seems like you've got an awful lot to say. Let's start with the trail of bodies you left behind," he said.

"Okay, that wasn't technically me," Cassandra started out.

"The lab," Falcon interrupted.

"…ninety percent of it wasn't me," Cassandra said. The benefit of having an underground interrogation room was the lack of noise; unfortunately, it made every silence an awkward one. "Look, none of those people were good people."

"And you get to be the one to decide that?"

Cassandra suddenly felt tired, the sort of tired that seeps into your bones and drags you down. The sort of tired that comes from carrying too much mentally, the kind that comes from deep within your soul. Her eyelids sagged shut for a moment before she could find the words to answer.

"When I was six, I got bit by the neighbor's dog. It was a German Shepherd mix. I was kicking a soccer ball when it rolled over into their yard. The dog was eating and when I got too close, it bit me. It wasn't bad, but I had to get shots for it. They put the dog down after that."

Cassandra looked Falcon in the eye, but he didn't respond. He just motioned his hand for her to continue.

"The dog wasn't bad. I remember he was normally pretty nice; listened well and never had a problem with the old couple that owned him, but under the right circumstances, he snapped. Sometimes, you have to make the hard decision," she said. "There was no right call. Not then, not now. I made the decisions I thought I could live with."

Falcon uncrossed his arms and rested his hands on the table. "What were they working on in that lab?"

"You've seen the things I can do," Cassandra said, so quiet it was barely a whisper. "Take a guess."

"They made you enhanced, came up with their own serum," Falcon said.

Cassandra shook her head in response. Slowly, she rolled up one of her sleeves. The scars were faint, but they still trailed along the length of her forearm as a testament to prolonged torture. "I was the serum."

Falcon's eyes were glued to her arms, his mouth a thin line. Cassandra shifted in her chair uncomfortably. She didn't like the reminder they gave her of her past.

"We were in the car together, my parents and I, before the 'accident'. A cop pulled my dad over, said we had a busted tail light. He made everyone get out of the car. I remember how weird it sounded. When the second car pulled up the cop injected something in my neck. I started scratching, kicking, but it didn't matter. I was unconscious fast," Cassandra's eyes were on the table in front of her, but her mind was running through the murky images she still remembered.

"When I woke up, I was in a hospital bed somewhere. They tried to tell me it was a car accident; I don't think they planned on me remembering. I was still out of it, I kept insisting to the nurse what really happened. They brought a team in and they restrained me, explained everything. That was back before SHIELD came out as HYDRA. The doctor said they got my DNA sample when I donated at a blood drive. They noticed some bullshit in my system, saw the potential of it. I spent a lot of time after that restrained to a hospital bed."

"It was hell…," she trailed off, unwilling to continue. "Then SHIELD fell, and HYDRA with it. I spent three years of my life trapped. It was hard to walk away, to try to start over."

"It's hard to come back sometimes," Falcon finally said. "Letting the past go isn't easy. Is that why you started this?"

Cassandra shook her head. "You don't get it. Project New Life, it's not over. Someone's continuing it, and I think they've finally figured it out. They can finally replicate it."

"So if this goes down…," he trailed off.

"We're looking at a potential army of enhanced," Cassandra finished.

"Damn," Falcon said. "I need everything you've got on this Project, who's behind it, and League."

Cassandra sat forward. "One condition: I'm not sitting on the sidelines. Before you interrupt, I've spent over a year tracking them down. This is the only thing that matters to me. I know who they are, I can find them better than anyone else. Without me, you've got nothing."

Falcon raised an eyebrow. "Fine, but you call me 'Bird Boy' one more time and we're gonna have a rematch."


End file.
